


Catharsis in Petrichor

by lappystar



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ariadne Has Regrets, Blood and Violence, Comic, Dionysus Has Problems With His Powers, Dubious Consent, Eventual Fluff, F/F, F/M, Greysexual Dionysus, Illustrations, M/M, NSFW Art, POV Multiple, Theseus is a dick, art by me, illustrated story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 107,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lappystar/pseuds/lappystar
Summary: Multimedia fic with a liberal amount of smut, includes occasional illustrations and comic interludes.Ariadne endlessly pines for a world apart from her own, even as responsibility keeps her bound in place. Kept cloistered away from society, she grows up only knowing the companionship of her family, and her mother's Scythian servant.Her duty is to tend to the labyrinth and the Minotaur- but only she and a handful of others know the truth.Her brother is not monster. He is resigned to his fate, and only hopes to pay for Ariadne's freedom with his glorious death. But unbeknownst to them both, deals have been made that threaten to dash their careful plans against a wall.On the other end of it all?A god who is haunted by lives past lived, and gives more of himself than he can afford in order to ensure the happiness of his followers. A man who refuses to be defined by fate, and struggles to reconcile with his strangely manifested immortality.
Relationships: Ampelus/Dionysus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ariadne/Dionysus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ariadne/Theseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Asterion the Minotaur/Theseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Pasiphae/Tabiti (Ancient Greek & Scythian Religion & Lore)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 65





	1. The One Where Theseus Meets Ariadne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage is set for a grand play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petrichor
> 
> pet·ri·chor  
> /ˈpeˌtrīkôr/
> 
> noun
> 
> a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

𐄇  
_the moon, many moons ago_

__

  
It is said that long ago as Selene napped upon her chariot in the afternoon sky, there was a great gull that had flown too high. Before it exhausted itself, it landed on one of the great cattle that drew her chariot, waking her up. It is said, if not for this, she would never have noticed the two young men on the northern shore of Crete. Bull jumping with no good sense of dignity. 

It is said, if not for this – that all of the archipelago would have nothing to drown their sorrow, and free their hearts.

Contrary to what one would expect, on that afternoon Selene woke up in better humor than usual. She even let the gull rest its weary wings for a moment before shooing it off. It helped that the forms of these mortal men were particularly pleasing to her eyes.

One was a young satyr lad, more human looking than most. Selene could see the fine the breadth of his hair as it thickly matted his legs, and the prominent horns that protruded from his head – but his feet were noticeably plantigrade and lacking cloven toes. Even his hair and coat were a dirty blonde, like the colour of autumn wild grass – he was quite handsome, if a bit short. But, indeed, it was a stocky kind of short that she had a particular fondness for.

The bull rather dramatically dug its hoof into the earth furiously snorting, and raced at the satyr with wild abandon. But true to the game, he faced it head on and leapt clear across the length of the bull, using the horns for leverage. Soaring the air, before catching himself in a roll on the other side. He seemed to do quite well for himself, even without the advantage that the more goat-like legs of his brethren would have given him.

He stuck a victorious pose as he come to his feet, arms out as he whooped and shouted his own praises.

‘ _How curious_ ,’ She thought, as she peered over the side of her chariot further to observe. Her great silver cloak billowed out from behind her, carelessly into the wind as it untwisted itself from Selene's sleep laden limbs.

The other youth was taller, more lithe and had dark flowing locks that flounced about wildly without care, as he used nothing to tie it back. His skin was dark, and freckled – and there was something curious about him that she couldn’t place. He looked more boy than the satyr though, despite the height difference. He seemed to have no hair upon his face – which was a sure indicator of his youth, as far as she was concerned. Quite pretty, this one.

Graceful too, Selene noted – as the youth executed a jump over the bull, running at it just as it ran at him. 

As it careened toward him, he turned his body at an angle before bending and then soaring. Spinning in the air, as he landed not in a roll but on his feet at the other side. There was no shout of triumph or fanfare from this one, just his hands on his hips and a beaming smile as he knew he’d done well. It was quite impressive, even more so than his friend’s. Indeed, this was the true aim of the game, outdoing your friends with each jump, and tempting them to partake in riskier but undeniably more death-defyingly exciting and flashy jumps than their last.

For in truth, much like most entertainment young people got up to on Crete, bull jumping was a pissing contest that one engaged in when bored. It was popular, though much more dangerous than fighting drunk on barley swill. That was the other leading past time of Cretan folk (behind bull jumping and fucking in fields).

Jumping bulls was all about looking good while you flirted with death. Calm, and unaffected by the world as you landed, or full of erupting bravado. These two men did a good job exhibiting the two warring ideals of the sport.

Not to be outdone, the satyr called out to his friend in challenge—“You might be good at jumping bulls – and personally I blame all the extra leg room you have – but I _know_ you still can’t ride one!”

So now they moved from tempting death, to willfully courting it? Oh, to be young.

Laughing, Selene decided if her nap must be disturbed, that observing these two handsome youths ‘frolic’ in the fields would heartily make up for the sleep she would miss out on. Or so she supposed they would anyway – they were still chasing the bull. But she thought they might give up on the task soon. After all, this bull was under the watchful and direct gaze of Selene herself.

It would forever elude them, unless she wished it – they would have to offer her favor before she even let them earn their triumph.

Moments later she was shocked.

The man was suddenly kneeling on the ground, poised to leap in the air in a surprisingly strategic position. He might have done it then, but truly the goddess was sure he would miss, or that the bull might gore him for his impetuousness. Jumping out of the way of a bull was a much different beast than jumping onto one. One with her favour. _Surely he would not succeed_ – but she was not given a chance to see the outcome, as the little satyr tackled his long haired friend to the ground.

Whether or not it was in a fit of protectiveness, or competitiveness as he couldn’t bear to see his partner prevail – they were nonetheless soon rolling in the grass and in each other’s arms, as the bull raced off into the distance.

Knowing satyrs, the little bugger was probably just unable to contain himself at the sight of his lover on his knees.

A slight smirk tugged on the edge of Selene’s lips, as she soon saw the impatient young satyr thrusting heartily between the long closed thighs of his partner. They seemed almost feral in their pursuit of each other, as if there were nothing else in all of existence. They fought, and scratched. At one point she noticed the man bite into the shoulder of the satyr in a fit of ecstasy.

‘ _Nice_.’ Selene chuckled to herself, grinning languidly as she propped her head up on one arm.

This was no relationship between a guiding hand, and an unsure youth. They were simply two souls, bodies that writhed against each other in a dance which had predated them for aeons.

When the satyr finally finished, he spent his white frothy stickiness into the vice-tight grip of his lover’s thighs. Then as the blinding peak of his orgasm started to ebb from him, he was pushing the other boy to the ground by his throat. He furiously clutched at the taut stomach of his partner, before grasping and jerking at his lover’s cock.

“ _Say it, Zagreus_!” Cried the satyr, and though Selene could not see his eyes – but she knew they must be crazed with need.

He was looking up at the satyr, smirking as he bit his lip. Unable to resist a tease. “Say what?”’

“ _Say. My. Name_.” The words were ground out between the heated punctuation of his satyr’s possessive kisses, wiping the smirk off his lover’s lips with his mouth.

To his credit, Zagreus didn’t give in quite so easily. He held on fiercely as the satyr tirelessly worked his body, nipping his ear and sliding his tongue down his neck. Smiling as he pressed kisses all along the freckles of his shoulders. The lanky mortal’s body writhed in agony as he kept himself on the precipice, unwilling to let himself be bested, unwilling to let himself be sent careening into the madness that came before ecstasy and-

“ _Ampelos_!” The mortal man shouted, as he pulled away from his lover. Came apart and hit the point of no return. Back arched, Zagreus held himself up for a moment, letting his core rest in the waiting arms of Ampelos as he lost himself in the blinding madness for a few long moments, his pale seed spattered for the most part across the contrasting skin of his stomach. 

They laid there for a while, simply holding each other – all ferocity between them gone. Now it was all tenderness as the man spooned his satyr lover from behind, so perfectly content with each other that no words needed to be spoken.

Until the competition began anew.

Selene laughed, as only a few short minutes later the men were up again to chase the bull. What energy youth held! True to the oath that she swore to herself, she withdrew her favour from the bull, and watched to see if either of the impetuous young lads really had what it took to ride it.

Ampelos, perhaps emboldened by the act of passion he had shared with his lover, was upon the bull’s back in moments. He looked scared, and afraid even, as it started to buck and struggle under the satyr’s unfamiliar weight. But soon he was emboldened, laughing and teasing his partner. He claimed that he had been going easy on his friend and lover, so not to embarrass him.

‘Arrogant.’ Selene noted as her smile started to crack, though she bestowed upon him a gift. After all, had he not conquered her bull? She whispered words upon the air – and the satyr’s blood became as sweet as his lies. A gift to his lover, who seemed to love using his teeth so much.

It was then, that young Ampelos err’d quite fatally in his youthful conceit. For he looked up to the moon then as it hung in the afternoon sky, and shouted.

“Selene! You must try harder than that to keep me at bay!” The arrogant prick of a satyr boomed with laughter. “I am both bull rider, and horned one! Zagreus, surely I must look more beautiful here before you than the moon itself, do I not?”

It was the sort of thing one might say in jest, if they were particularly stupid or foolhardy. And more times than not it would not matter. For how often would Selene have woken from her nap? How often would she have focused her view so intently on a mere two mortals, only for one of them to challenge her so directly?

Ampelos was quite an unlucky boy.

Her hand curled tight on the edge of her chariot in fury as he called her horned. As if she was some simple goat or oxen! The curving crescent of her tiara shone, the feature that Ampelos had unfortunately insulted. Words were whispered unto the air then, and Selene opened the tight fist she had made in anger.

From it flew a simple pesky gadfly, as Selene grasped the reins of her chariot, and drove off – her happy mood now forgotten.

-

𐄈  
_the hollow man, the sprout_

__

  
“You’re very handsome, Ampelos! Especially up there on that bull – but perhaps you should come down?” He noticed how the satyr’s shoulders trembled, and despite his bravado Zagreus knew how truly terrified Ampelos was.

He was continually baffled at his love’s persistence in tempting fate despite his obvious fear.

Zagreus felt something was off in the air as soon as Ampelos looked up to the sky, something deep within him calling out that there was _wrongness_ on the foot. When his friend (and love) had shouted his jest, it seemed as if the very heavens had frowned upon him. So soon after he’d felt like the air was blessed around them too, though he would have never mentioned these things to Ampelos.

He would have said he was imagining things. Zagreus saw and felt a great many things that people thought he imagined.

“Oh?” Ampelos’s hands were tightly fisted in the bull’s long coat as his body was tossed to and fro. “Zagreus, you know that’s my least favourite part.”

“Only because it’s much harder than getting up there!” Zagreus was desperate, though he tried to not let it show in his voice. “Besides, your favourite part comes right after you dismount!”

They had only just been coupling in the field, but Ampelos was a satyr, known for their depthless appetites for pleasure – and he was always eager for Zagreus’s body. Surely convince him to be brave – though Zagreus wished that his friend weren't so intent on riding bulls, considering how afraid he was to dismount. 

If not for Ampelos’s urging, Zagreus would have been truly happy just to jump the bull. But his friend refused to be outdone, and this was the one area the satyr knew he had over Zagreus.

He watched as Ampelos seemed to perk up at what his lover implied, his hands started loosen on the hide of the bull and he started to slide off to the side-

But it was too late.

Zagreus saw it zipping through the air, unnaturally determined. A simple tiny stinging gadfly – and yet it was deadly as pricked the bull’s side – then again, and again. Zagreus could see it somehow, through all the chaos, he could see each unrelenting prick that stoked the bull further into fervor.

Suddenly rearing, the bull lost its footing and was sent crashing to the ground along with Ampelos. As it flailed the gadfly would not relent, biting into the bull’s flesh over and over. Ampelos’s screams filled the air as he was crushed to the earth and gored. Not only battered as it tossed wildly on the ground, but stomped on as it finally got to its feet and raced off into the distance.

When Zagreus ran to his side moments later, his love was a wreck on the verge of death, and his blood soaked the earth. He cried as he clutched Ampelos to his breast as he bled out, all the great swaths of hair Zagreus so loved now sticky with blood. Blood that smelled sharp and fruity. Sweet. 

He smoothed his love’s curly hair away from his face, slick with vital fluid.

“Please. Ampelos – _Please – D-don’t leave_.” Zagreus begged, as if it could do anything. As if he could stop anything – but he knew he couldn’t.

It was wrong. All wrong.

When the rattling breaths coming from Ampelos’s mouth told him that death was near, and Zagreus leaned down to press a final kiss to his mouth.

Ampelos’s blood burned, and was sweet as figs.

Zagreus swore to the earth, and the heavens – begging for something, anything that could bring his friend back. If he could just go back to a few minutes past, and drag Ampelos away once they had finished making love. He would give anything to go back to the home they shared, and to never go bull jumping in the fields again.

If only it was so easy. Yet, he would receive his wish, in a strange perverted sense of its purpose. For surely, it was true that Zagreus would never be parted from Ampelos again.

He whispered to his Ampelos, who lay dead in his arms with his body splayed open. To his shock, something whispered back. Not his departed friend, but his blood. It soaked into the earth, and his friend’s body seemed to disappear with it, but it told him many things. All the while he watched in terror as skin, bone and flesh turned to leaf, grape and vine – creeping everywhere along the earth, along his very own body. Zagreus’s eyes widened as the blood and the leaves told him secrets, _so many secrets_. Yet none of them were the answer to the question burning in his mind.

‘ _Why_?’

Ripe fruit burst forth from the vines that surrounded him, wreathing his hair. The dark berries smelled of Ampelos’s blood, and Zagreus was sure he had gone mad as all the whispers roared at once in his head like a great river, all at once telling him how to soothe his pain. Of what would happen if he were to gather these berries and rip them apart, as Ampelos had been by the bull. To drink of the fruit of Ampelos's blood.

The fruit of this vine – these were grapes. The words were fresh and unfamiliar to his mind.

The whispers told him to take the juice, to strain it. To let it sit and wait, and become alive again. Like him. Like him? The question was burned out of his mind as he was told of how sweet it would be, how strong it would be. Whispering of how it would release him and all else from their sorrows, as tears streamed down his face. He could not help but listen.. When he stood, head swimming with visions and burning with anguish, the vines ripped from the ground and fell from his body, the only remnants of Ampelos left only in his long wild hair.

He couldn’t return home then. Not to where they lived. There was no home there without Ampelos next to him. Now there would only be home on the trails he walked, wisps of his loved one that lay on his head like a crown.

Everywhere he walked, he spread the words that Ampelos’s blood constantly whispered to him – passed off pieces of the vine which still grew in his hair, somehow still alive. Was he still there in the vine? Could Ampelos feel it still, if Zagreus were to pluck a ripe grape from his hair?

People took one look at him with his hair full of leaves and said he was crazed. Thought they were right, they all shared in his madness. They would scorn him as a vagrant and chase him off, but they would always change their tune when they drank from the great amphorae he would leave behind, filled with the fruit of the bloodied and whispered secrets of Ampelos’s flesh – which they called wine.

Suddenly this wild looking vagrant was beloved, even as his forehead grew horns. They were not quite like Ampelos’s, but a clear tribute. Soon he became popular with all, as whether rich or poor, his drink soothed all souls. People started to follow him instead of shout, and they started to spread his words further than any one man could manage by himself.

There was nowhere Zagreus’s words did not touch, no corner of the Hellas that did not cry out in joy for the relief Ampelos died to give them. For Zagreus now realised what had happened. That this was fated.

Even as he died, Ampelos was with him. Surrounded by his followers and little poppy girls, priestesses devoted to helping those like him pass on without pain, even then his greyed hair was filled with the still woody and green grape vine. Even in his death he heard the whispers.

There was never a voice he recognised, until the day he died.

For the last whisper in his ears were his own thoughts as he told himself – _this was not the first time he had died_.

-

𐄉  
_the princess, the labyrinth keeper_

  
Ariadne winced lightly as her mother’s handmaiden Tabitae scrubbed at her hair with careful firm hands. It really wasn’t too hard – and Ariadne was used to it. In a way, it actually almost felt invigorating on her scalp, and she could tell that Tabitae was likely being as gentle as she could manage. She couldn’t begrudge her, seeing how steadfast her companionship had been over the years.

Every morning, it was the same. Tabitae would come and take her to her mother’s bath, and helped her wash before dressing her for the day. Every morning, for as long as she remembered since she was a girl, it was just the two of them. When she was young, Ariadne had wondered why she never had any handmaids herself. At night, unlike her sisters, she undressed herself before she lay to sleep.

Once or twice, she had been present at her sister Acacallis’s bath time, when she was much younger. She thought about how she had never observed less than a half a dozen girls and women attending to her sister, and had wondered why one person needed so many people to help her bathe.

As luxurious as it had seemed, Ariadne had always preferred the relative privacy afforded by her and Tabitae’s morning ritual. Ever since Ariadne was little she would tell Tabitae her worries. She felt as if she could say anything to her mother’s handmaid. Part of that was because of the fact Tabitae was unable to speak – not a sound left her but the passing of air through her lips, a sort of sigh.

Only now she was older had it occurred to her that perhaps it was unfair to so freely vent her frustrations to the woman who had no choice but to listen.

But, of course she had a choice. Tabitae actually enjoyed a remarkable amount of independence in the palace and her duties, perhaps only because people tended to give the heavily tattooed woman a wide berth. Many people said that she was a witch! Ariadne supposed there were other reasons than witchcraft which scared people away from Tabitae. Her mother Pasiphae was known for her magic, and for her handmaid to have some hand in it was a trifling matter.

Then there were the people who avoided her for her foreignness – for Tabitae was a Scythian.

Scythians were well known and feared for their ruthlessness. Skies filled with arrows, only heralded by their beating hooves and their heavily marked warriors – _and the amazons who were fabled to ride with them_. Or so Pasiphae told her, Ariadne had a feeling there was perhaps more withheld from her, but didn't dare ask.

Perhaps people int he palace complex avoided her for fear of what she might do to them, were they to cross her wrongly. After all, she only answered to the Queen (and supposedly the King).

But Ariadne never saw Tabitae wield a bow, or ride a horse, or anything so frightening. Instead what she was was a woman who spent most of her away from her Queen hauling buckets of water and helping Ariadne clean the cat shit out of the labyrinth.

Her labyrinth guards were all so useless in that way, all too superstitious to even enter the maze! But the handmaid was fearless in this.

Likely because she knew the truth of the ‘beast’ that lived and walked the labyrinth’s passages – of the Minotaur. 

Ariadne hated that name, _Minotaur_. Not her brother's true name, but a name forced upon him that spoke of ownership rather than lineage.

 _Mino-taur_ – _Minos's_ bull. Minos's monster.

But Asterion wasn’t quite as monstrous as people generally thought him to be.

 _Unless you’re a young, afraid Athenian_ – Ariadne sighed into the water, making a few bubbles on the surface. It was spring, and that was two years away.

She did not need to think of that right now.

“I wish I hadn’t spent so much time in the gardens this week. ”

Tabitae simply shrugged, and Ariadne filled in for her. “I suppose she did need me to sort out the flowers.”

Pasiphae had wished to speak with a confluence of moths last evening, and for the entire week before Ariadne had spent helping her prepare. They had worked in a small garden within the queen’s division of the palace planting sea daffodils in a bed of sand to attract the nocturnal insects. It had been something new and interesting, if a bit tiring. 

But it had given her less time to work in the labyrinth, and she wasn’t going to spend less time with Asterion in favour of cleaning up after the feral cats of the labyrinth. Not if she had to choose between the two.

“I wonder if people would think me so scary if my title was Custodian of Cat Shit and Rat Carcasses instead of Mistress of the Labyrinth.” This earned an opened mouth, silent laugh from her companion, as Ariadne saw humor light up Tabitae’s eyes.

Other than an awful horrific blip every seven years that is – most of what she did was making sure the maze didn’t get too disgusting. Bringing food and drink to Asterion was hardly work, when she would spend time afterwards simply talking, and telling him stories from outside the labyrinth walls.

Looking for a distraction, Ariadne watched Tabitae's tattooed arms. Admiring.

Ariadne thought the markings were fascinating, and they spoke of a story that she would never be able to hear from the handmaid’s lips. The iconography was different from what she saw in Crete, or perhaps of any place of Hellas – but she had grown up staring at them.

There was a distant memory Ariadne had, as a young girl – very young – from before the labyrinth had been finished.

She was with her mother and Tabitae, in a secluded little garden. She had been sitting in Pasiphae’s lap and running her hands all over the scorching skin of Tabitae’s arms. Asking her mother what every little symbol meant. 

“ _That one’s a deer, love. And that’s a horse. Yes! There’s quite a lot of horses aren’t there? Oh – that one?_ ”

There was one not quite as visible as the rest – beginning somewhere along Tabitae’s bicep, with a deer bent down to to the earth, its antlers beginning to frame something on her back – which Tabitae was all too happy to show off, undoing the fastenings of her dress to reveal it.

Revealed to the young Ariadne was a great and glorious sun, and countless scores upon scores of figures bowing down to it. Even the deer on her arms prostrated, and their bowed heads gave the sun a magnificent corona with their antlers.

“ _Grandpa!_ ” Ariadne had shouted gleefully at the time, thinking it to be Helios.

“ _Something like that, yes._ ” Ariadne had been too young to think anything of the statement, too young to understand the sly look her mother had given Tabitae at the time. What did it mean?

Ariadne wasn’t blind to the many sly looks the two had passed between each other over the years. She thought of it now though, sometimes. Of the rumors.

There was a part of her, dimly, which wondered if Tabitae was more than just her mother’s handmaiden, and not exactly in the ways people snidely insinuated either. It stuck with her, now that she was older and there were things that begged questions, if only she would ask them.

Ariadne knew she looked nothing like her father. That she resembled only in the barest sense her mother.

Her sisters took far more after their parents than her, with golden flaxen hair that seemed to glow in the light of Helios’s rays. Many had commented on how Ariadne and her sister Phaedra looked barely related, but for her mother’s own unmistakable eyes. Of all her siblings, her visage seemed to betray their divine lineage the least.

Her mother insisted to Ariadne often that she favoured her grandmother Europa’s looks, with her dark curls and handsome bone structure. But looking at herself and Tabitae in the water, and thinking of the elderly regal woman she had seen – only once. To think she resembled the woman who had been the secret consort of Zeus himself; Ariadne wasn’t so sure she agreed. 

The water was never so warm and comforting, she thought, as what Tabitae drew for her. None of the women who scrubbed Phaedra’s skin, she thought, were nearly as mindful of her as that as her mother’s handmaiden.

So, Ariadne decided not to question it. Questioning it would ruin it, and she had many complications in her life already for Ariadne to want to sour what few soothing moments she was allowed.

Life right then was as easy as it could have been for Ariadne, as the maiden of the labyrinth. Which was to say that she had gotten used to her life by this point. A life she had carved out her happiness with, even if she knew it was not the life that a princess was supposed to live. There was a reason she had not dared to ever try bringing her sisters to see Asterion. She’d accepted things as they were.

For right then, the air was warm as music drifted across the air through the window. No matter what would occur in two years time, Ariadne could pretend these moments in between were eternities where she wanted for little.

Except for for perhaps one thing, as Aridne was but nineteen springs and _unmarried_.

A strange fact. Though it was not as if there was ever reason for her to be given the chance. She knew Asterion would be lost without her, but still, it stung.

Her older sisters had already been married off, and when the time came that she should have started to receive suitors of her own, there was nothing. 

Ariadne had watched at a distance, guiltily coveting the plans she saw being made for her sister’s marriages. She had caught glances of the missives her father received from the suitors of her older sisters when she met with him to talk of Asterion. Always briefly – ever so briefly. She had learned as a young girl of what he wished to hear of her brother, and that his quality of life was not so much King Minos’s concern as much as it was whether or not he was trying to escape.

One day, not too long past, she noticed the new messages from suitors. And though there weren’t very many, and Ariadne had thought they might be hers. 

Though she knew she must refuse, she at least dared to dream of what it might have been like – for some man from a foreign city to come and sweep her off her feet. To take her away from here. And in reality he might be old, or cruel, but in her dreams he was beautiful.

As if nothing that had happened on Crete was real – in these dreams she could imagine as if Asterion could come with them and live freely. As fanciful as it was, if she were to dream of things that were to never come to pass, Ariadne would at least let them be as impossibly perfect as possible.

Ariadne sunk into the bathwater as she considered the childish fantasy that she’d concocted then. She held her breath and she held her eyes closed tightly under the water. She could almost feel it then, how happy she had been, if only at the idea of things.

It was so silly of her though – so stupid. It’s not like her father was unaware of the one thing that made her truly unable to marry. Beyond her duty. A reason she had been stupid to forget so readily-

Such large dreams had proven only more suffocating weights on her.

-

_Ariadne was delicately plucking the stigmas from a saffron crocus, as she aided her mother with her craft. She sat with Pasiphae, keeping warm near the hearth in their quarters – as she and the king had slept apart for longer than Ariadne could remember. It was pouring rain outside, as was characteristic of this time of year on the northern coast of Crete._

_They had not needed to pick them from the outside. It was for others to fetch the cypress boughs, the sea daffodils, wormwort and fennel flowers that Pasiphae needed. It was for Ariadne to help her sort and separate each botanical attribute of the plants according to what was needed. There was a strange essence of ceremony to this, as well as an air of herbalism and notation._

_So Ariadne set aside the delicate saffron stigmas, and though they were valuable they were not what was needed. It was the petals that Pasiphae had asked her to press and dry, and Ariadne was patting them down with linen when Phaedra rushed in through the door._

_“Mother, sister! You won’t believe it! I have my first suitors! Father only just told me!”_

_Oh._

_The linen she was pressing the flower in became tangled in her hands suddenly – and Ariadne was surprised at herself with the reaction. She made sure it wouldn’t reach her mouth._

_“How wonderful Phaedra!” It was fine. Really. Of course it was – in fact this made sense. Of course it wasn’t her._

_It wasn’t the first time Ariadne had found out an uncomfortable truth about herself, simply by listening to her younger sister talking about things that were normal for her._

_She knew it was selfish of her to have assumed. But there was a look her mother gave her, after Phaedra had been shuffled out of the room to attend some social gathering or some such. Her sister had apparently only visited to share the 'good news'._

_Pasiphae’s face was wistful, and Ariadne thought perhaps tinged with a bit of a regret, before she said something quite puzzling._

_“Your life, Ariadne, is regrettably full of choices you were never allowed to make for yourself. Trust me, when I say that this is perhaps the one way in which you are more fortunate than your sisters – than I, even.”_

-

Ariadne broke the surface of the water, breathing heavily as her lungs burned from the lack of air. She noticed Tabitae behind her, a concerned look on her face. But she should’ve known more than anyone else that Ariadne wouldn’t try to leave the world in such a cowardly way – who would take care of Asterion?

Pasiphae had never elaborated, and Ariadne hadn’t dared to ask her to. There was something about acknowledging what her mother said, the fact that her life was so different from that of her sisters. So much more expected of her, and at the same time so much less. Ariadne didn’t want to face it – didn’t want to acknowledge the reality of what that meant for her.

Ariadne looked out a large window that provided much of the light in the room, leaning against the wall of the bath as Tabitae coiled her hair into a bun and bound the rest of her loose hair to her head with a strip of fabric. Not quite plain, but not quite extravagant. Ariadne supposed it was fitting, for someone like her. She closed her eyes again, breathing deeply as she focused on the strumming of a lyre that had made its way through the window.

So far away – it must have been from the camp of the vine god's wandering followers, which presumably contained the newly risen god himself as well. No one really told her anything, but they still talked about things around her nonetheless, and Ariadne was always listening. 

They said that when this god left the grounds upon which he walked, it was left fertile as could be. The soil dark and full of life. She remembered her brothers Catreus and Deucalion talking of it all, of how his followers were wild and free women. Something that they thought was shameful from the tone of their voices.

“Thank you.” Ariadne murmured to Tabitae as she firmly patted her dry and fitted her clothes on her soon after leaving the bath. Her girdle and fastenings on her peplos secured, Ariadne laughed as she was feeling slightly tickled from the affair. Curious of what she would see, she walked to the window and looked out to the scrubby grassland that stretched out from this side of the palace complex, trying to find the source of all sounds in the air.

Closer to the palace than she would have expected, she saw the mad god’s camp, though there was no sign of the divine being himself. It was a sea of tents to which Ariadne could only think – if only there were soldiers inside of those tents, rather than wild women and their children, it would seem as if a conquering army sat outside their palace.

Of course, it very easily _could_ turn to violence, where you to displease their Lord.

She had heard her guards talk, as they drunkenly did their rounds at the labyrinth one night. The spoke of just a few years past – when the King of Thebes, supposedly the god’s own cousin, had outlawed worship of the new god and declared Dionysus a heretic. How such a thing could have happened, Ariadne could not imagine.

What she did know was that the palace of Knossos had, ghastly as it was, actually cheered up from the news. Finally, some other city was finally on the receiving end of the gods ill-will, rather than them for once. Far more egregious was this a trespass than to simply covet a bull – King Pentheus had managed a heresy that even her father could not have rivaled.

For the war he had all but declared on his cousin, the god, he had earned quite an awful fate. He was torn alive by the women of Thebes, as the god let loose his liberating influence. All at once the women trapped in their households let loose their frustrations upon the city – including his mother and aunts upon the King.

Could that happen here? Ariadne wondered.

By comparison, Cretan society encouraged women to take part in society, more than just matters of the household. Her position, much as it was meant to be a burden rather than a privilege, attested to the fact. 

Though Ariadne would never say she felt quite free, she supposed her father wasn’t in any position to attract the ire of another god. So she would (perhaps unfortunately?) not be called out to the drunken revelry had gone on through the night – singing and laughing and screaming. Even if she was not to feel the vine god's call to arms deep within her heart, there was no escaping the raucous cacophony that sounded all through the night during their revelry.

That some of the maenads and satyrs were still going on with their play, even now, it was almost admirable.

“Do you think they enjoy themselves? Always moving around?”

No answer from Tabitae, not verbally anyway. Just a lazy smile and a nod, as Ariadne watched her gaze – directed to the part of the camp occupied mainly by women. There was a glint of jealousy, she thought, in the Scythian's eyes.

Then there was a rasping sort of half cackle from Tabitae, and she shrugged and raised an eyebrow. As if to say, ‘What do you think?’

“I’d like it, I think. M-maybe not everything they do but,” Ariadne pondered for a second, “It’d be nice to just… exist, wouldn't it?”

Then she was off, to start her duties of the day – Asterion had wanted to see one of the first crocuses of spring, and she had to go sneak one from one of the gardens.

-

𐄊  
_two fateful summers later_

Ariadne stood by her mother Pasiphae, holding her hand as they received their ‘guests’ for the evening.

King Minos stood grimly in front of the finest of his year old cattle with a knife in hand. The practice was symbolic, in many ways. Ariadne imagined in Athens, a place she had only ever heard spoken of, the practice must be viewed as a grim joke. As if to say fourteen lives, with bright futures and of respectable families were worth but one of King Minos’s cows?

It wasn’t entirely so simple though.

It was the Cretan Bull, which her father should have slain long ago in the first place. It was her brother Androgeus, killed before his time by treachery. It was her brother Asterion, who was her father’s greatest shame.

These weren’t things said out loud, though she knew it to be true. Seven years ago she’d stood just here, and watched her father slit the throat of the barely weaned cow, and seven years before that too. Animal sacrifices weren’t uncommon, considering it was the surest way any of the Gods could hear their prayers. Even with his godly father, King Minos still had to go through the same hoops any other human did.

This wasn’t the same though, and it was the differences that truly disturbed her – there was no beseeching, no entreating. Only three words would leave her father’s lips as he looked down hatefully at the fourteen youths who he would leave for dead in the labyrinth.

This year, however, the look on his face was especially hateful. Because there were fifteen Athenians, rather than fourteen. It was the last addition whom her father’s eyes were vehemently focused upon as the words left his mouth.

“ _In Poseidon’s name_.”

Blood spilled to the ground, and Ariadne followed her father’s line of sight away from it – to that one Athenian in particular.

How many sacrificial youths had she seen since she started? None of them had ever particularly stood out in her mind for their personality or looks. They were scared faces blended into each other. Even the ones that seemed brave – it was always tempered by fear.

He was different.

He stood taller than her, but not the tallest among his fellow citizens. It made it all the more impressive how much he stuck out in contrast to them all, as he stood confident. Ariadne was surprised that she hadn’t noticed him sooner, with his short and curly golden hair combed back from his face. Quite a handsome face it was too and left clear for all to see – it was filled with determination. It was a look few dared to give King Minos. Much less from one about to be thrown to the labyrinth. 

Yet there was a confident smile upon his face, and a certain surety to the tilt of his eyebrows.

Favourably, Ariadne also noted the squareness of his jaw, and his high cheekbones. It made the choice she would have to make tonight easier in some ways, and harder in others. Everything would be easier if she liked him. But she didn’t want to.

He looked young, but he still a bit old to have been sent here of all places. Ariadne would think that he was perhaps her yearsmate – or even slightly older. He should have responsibilities, a place in society. Why was he here?

“Prince Theseus, how kind of you to join us. I had heard talk of Aegeus’s _bastard_ – and I suppose I just never believed it until now. Perhaps you were able to lift a rock or some such, but are we all to believe that as a case for paternity?” Minos emphasised his speech by pointing straight at the prince with the tip of his dagger. “Regardless, who better to sacrifice to Poseidon in the name of my misdeeds, than a pretender to his paternity as well? Maybe I shall finally be freed from this ugly business, once you perish to the bull.”

Theseus, the name rang through Ariadne’s mind like a bell. A prince? Athens had a prince come here? And a bastard?

The prince’s laugh rang out through the courtyard, as he brandished something in one of his sturdy looking hands. Not a weapon – they would have been searched and disarmed as soon as they stepped foot on the island. It was something small, that gleamed in the sun. A ring? 

Suddenly he was throwing it to the ground in front of her father, and she saw him go stiff as it rolled in front of his feet.

“How!?”

“Oh, I got the missive you sent. I’m sure you got _mine_ as well, so let's not either of us pretend as if this is a surprise.” Hands on his hips, triumphant, Ariande wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone act so brazenly toward her father. “Do you like the ring? It's exactly as you asked for – and it was quite the long swim to get to it, so I was hoping you'd appreciate the effort. My father sends his regards.”

Ariadne almost wanted to laugh, though she had no idea of what on earth he spoke of – no one talked to King Minos like that! 

It thrilled her – but she held it in. Laughing would be absolutely unacceptable at this moment, and there would be no hesitation to punish her. But this Theseus actually seemed capable, if not a bit too confident in himself. Overconfidence, she thought, was preferable to an utter lack of it.

Ariadne’s stomach and heart twisted, as she felt herself conflicted. The last time she’d done this, she’d never expected it would work – 

“You talk as if you think you’ll survive this! No one survives the brutality of Minos’s Bull.”

“I think ‘Theseus’s Fists’ will prove fine enough to take down your ill-begotten monstrosity!” Ariadne winced as his laughter filled the courtyard again, his handsome face looking a tad crueler to her then than it had before. “And you speak of bastards when-”

“Enough!” Minos shouted before signaling to Ariadne that she was to take them away.

She was to take them to a small bit of housing near the mouth of the labyrinth – but it was more accurately a waiting room. Nobody ever spent the night there.

None of this made sense. Why had the ring made her father so mad? How was this man – though he still seemed part boy in some aspects – expecting to take down Asterion with only his fists? His body was near perfect in its symmetry. His arms and legs stood in flawless proportion to each other, as did the rest of his body. A paragon of beauty by most standards but still paling in comparison to the sheer bulk of her brother and his great axe. 

Though she supposed she held the answer to that.

Ariadne felt herself held back when she moved to do as her father bade, her hand squeezed tightly by her mother. Surprised by her grip, Ariadne realised that Pasiphae’s normally melancholic expression was wound tightly into a hateful glare. Whether at Theseus, or her father, she wasn’t quite able to tell as it was quickly trained upon the sky itself.

“Mother.” Ariadne whispered, tugging at her grip gently. She didn’t want to tempt her father’s anger at this moment by being anything less than expedient.

Pasiphae’s grip suddenly slackened as she mouthed a tight lipped ‘sorry’, and Ariadne hurried away to escort the Athenians, a retinue of guards close behind them. As they walked, she shot more than one glance back at Theseus. He was close behind her, leading his people without a lick of fear on his countenance – and Ariadne knew he meant what he said in the courtyard. 

Was he truly a son of Poseidon?

Ariadne whipped her head back around as she was filled with fear and apprehension at the thought, and she stewed within herself as she led them past the countless buildings and open rooms of the enormous palace complex of Knossos – was this the last time she would do this shameful procession?

There was building after building, room after room. Some for civic duties and administration, but plenty as well for gathering places, and open air rooms with sprawling frescos. There were rooms of religious importance that Ariadne had always been told existed but had never been allowed near herself. But she took them to none of those places, only taking them to their deaths. 

Deaths in plural that she hoped to avoid this year with only one singular death.

Once reached the oikos outside the labyrinth, Ariadne felt things had to be different this time. Accompanied by one of the guards, she silently started separating the fifteen of them into different rooms, each sparsely furnished – and the guards took their positions at the exits. Except, somewhat problematically, the building had been made entirely to house only the fourteen sacrificial Athenians, and none more. 

Despite his position at the head of his pack, Ariadne had purposefully left Theseus for last – and looking to the man she knew to be the leader of her retinue, she asked if they might just want to send him in early, so long as they readied him now. 

Politely – as if she couldn't just have this ordered and done with by a simple command. Afterall, Ariadne was truly the labyrinth mistress in more than title, but such domineering commands weren't much to her nature. Although these guards were here to make sure she complied without making any _unwisely empathetic decisions_ in regards to her brother’s care – they deferred to her more often than not.

But it was easier for her this way, to convince someone they had the power of decision, rather than to order it herself.

"After all, wasn’t he so eager to begin?" She noted to her guards.

The look the prince gave her then was of careful consideration, as if he seemed to realise that Ariadne was actually more than just an errand girl ferrying people to and from their deaths.

No one important would notice or care if one Athenian was sent in early, she argued. Oh, didn’t he deserve it?

After all, her father was never there for the ‘opening ceremonies’ anyway, would he not be none the wiser? Surely he would be happy to see this arrogant prince sent first to his death!

King Minos would not be there because he pawned the responsibilities for his mistakes off on to Ariadne as much as possible. She could not remember a time he had even stepped foot near the labyrinth. Most of the time he barely even looked at her.

Her father was quite happy to have as little reminders as possible of his sins against Poseidon, and the fruits of what that wrought.

So, of course, the guard laughed, and readily agreed. Ariadne could’ve been hurt by the guard's acceptance that she would be so cruel, but then she knew the sorts of rumors had spread about her. It was only natural when one spent their time around supposed ‘monsters’. It suited her purpose anyway, so she sent him off to be bathed and oiled. For Poseidon’s offerings were meant to be as perfect as possible for their slaughter-

No one even noticed as Ariadne pressed close to the prince before they were to lead him out, close enough to whisper into his ear.

“I can help you. Later.” Before pulling away just as quickly, and watching that look of careful consideration deepen as Theseus was led away yet again.

Ariadne was a traitor – and she hated herself for it.

-

𐄋  
_the sacred bull, the man, the beast_

His name was Asterion, and he was the second of this name. A name that meant ‘ruler of the stars’. A name which heralded glory.

But Asterion had only ever seen the sun and the star filled sky filtered through the tall walls of the labyrinth, but for once, long ago on a painful eve. Despite a name that would aspire towards greatness – he was trapped, and he always would be.

For he was a monster, through and through. He might speak like a man, think like a man, and pretend he was one. But outside of the tight circle of companionship that had formed around him, giving him a taste of the kinder side of humanity? He knew what people saw. He knew what he was, even if his sister and brothers told him otherwise.

After all, he was imprisoned in this labyrinth, and his sister was imprisoned beside him – in her actions, if not in a literal sense. Asterion was well aware of the things they would do to her if he were to deviate from what was wanted and expected of him.

One did not need to have the face of a bull, or to be known as a flesh eating beast to be a monster. It was just simply easier for them to hide what they were. Perhaps that was the difference between him and them, Asterion mused.

It was impossible for him to forget what he was – it was so much easier to pretend you weren’t, when you had a face that looked human.

Tonight was the eve of the third penalty King Aegeus was to pay to Minos, with fourteen youthful and vigorous sons and daughters of Athens in exchange for the blood debt owed from Athens to Knossos. Offered to the bull of the labyrinth, who many said consumed the flesh of his tributes – only kept from consuming the flesh of Crete by the clever mind of Daedalus.

Daedalus. A kind man – one who had covered the walls of this labyrinth in art, in frescos for the young boy to gaze upon as he was trapped in the maze that this same kind man constructed around him.

Away from the gossip of the streets that spoke of his savage brutality, Asterion toiled in the darkness illuminated only by the light of his forge. The heat was blistering as he worked on his great labrys, heavier than most men could heft. But then, he was not most men.

They were a perfect pair.

None in the palace knew of the work he did, nor did he think they would believe that such a monster would be capable of such fine craftsmanship. But his hands were the same as any other man and just as capable, and the mind behind his horns was just as sharp as any of his brothers.

Ariadne had been the one to tell him of his ‘fame’ in the world outside of their labyrinth – of how people said he consumed his tributes once he was done ripping them limb from limbs.

He supposed he made quite an impression upon the palace guard who collected the bodies at the mouth of the maze when he was a youth. Young and afraid. Before he had learned the noble art of martial combat.

During that first awful payment of blood from Athens.

Back then, he was so much smaller, so much weaker – and as terrifying as he looked to the Athenian sacrifices, they in turn filled him with just as much fear. He was barely seven springs old, younger than any of the Athenians that had ever been given to Minos in exchange for the death of his brother.

Asterion remembered the first time an Athenian ship came in with its supposedly black sail (not that he ever _saw_ it). He remembered how he had decided with Ariadne: that they wouldn’t do it. He remembered how his sister, in the innocent way of a child, had convinced him that if he were to talk and show the Athenians how human he really was – everything would be okay.

That they would know as surely as she did, he was not truly a monster.

He remembered how he’d believed her – and how those hopes were dashed like his skull against the floor of the labyrinth as the first of the Athenians found his chamber. He was much older than young Asterion, but he remembered thinking how beautiful the boy was. He remembered thinking of how much he wanted to know him, and how he would be sure to listen.

He’d thought everyone who was nice to him was beautiful, at the time. All he knew then was his sister, his mother, and her handmaid. The guards at the mouth of the labyrinth, who looked upon him in fear, or disgust – who kicked the feral cats that scurried past them, and screamed names and insults into the echoing caves of the labyrinth – they were ugly. To him it seemed as simple as that.

So when that first new face he’d met twisted into something else faster than he knew to react, young Asterion was shocked to know someone so handsome would be so cruel to him. He had not imagined his pleas for peace would fall upon deaf ears, as the older boy quickly came to two conclusions: that the famed bull of Minos was just a boy smaller than he, and that he is a coward. 

The words had barely left his mouth before the Athenian was upon him, hurting him. He didn’t even remember the fight itself – only the gored body which lay in front of him when it was done. The pain in his body, and how their blood mingled between them. How when the next youth happened upon him, minutes later, there had been no hesitation. No more attempts to convince them he wasn’t a monster.

There was nothing noble about those deaths. No art in the way they had all struggled to survive. There was no more fooling himself that strangers saw anything else in him other than a monster to be slain. A future song to be sung about them, in which they would be the glorious hero who had slain Minos's Bull.

Perhaps the King had wanted him to perish there, perhaps that was his great plan. To both rid the world of an abomination, and extract revenge from his enemies. But he had _survived_.

There was nobody to comfort him then, other than Ariadne and the mysterious and silent Tabitae. Poor Ariadne, just as young as he, and just as unable to deal with the horror and carnage. She had only been able to hold him as they cried together.

But what could she have done? How was such a young child expected to empty the labyrinth of so many bodies – as each of the mangled corpses easily outweighed her.

Before this, he had only known to be happy for the presence of his sister in his life. It was only then that he realised how cruel a task for Ariadne it was to be her brother’s keeper. After all, he was a monster. For this to be his lot in life was expected, but she could have lived in ignorance. She could have grown up as sweet as he’d heard their younger sister Phaedra had, who had never laid eyes upon him. If not for his existence, she would have – he was sure.

He was cursed to do his father’s dirty work, and bear his shame. Just as Ariadne was cursed to having to clean up after Asterion’s own shame in turn.

So that first time, as twins had cried in despair, Tabitae did the work for them. The tattooed woman was unphased by the bloodshed before her, completing the task with as little fuss as she did just about anything.

There were so many questions he had about her, about how she was strong enough to carry all those bodies to the mouth of the labyrinth and back without seeming to break a sweat – about why her body was covered with deers, and suns, and horses and fire.

But even if he was brave enough to ask any of those questions, it wasn’t as if she could reply.

How could he ask anything of the woman when she cleaned the blood from his skin. Off of Ariadne’s neck, when the gore had stuck to her after he buried his brutalized face in it. When she showed Ariadne how to tend to his wounds. When she showed them how to continue to live after that first slaughter.

For a silent woman, there was a surprising amount she seemed to communicate in her eyes, her actions, and in the posture of her body. He remembered how he’d learned as much when she’d appeared late one evening in the heart of the labyrinth, years before he would fight the Athenians for a second time. 

She stood turned away from him in front of a glowing forge that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. She stared straight into it, and when she turned around he saw a fire still burning in her eyes. 

In her hands she held a funny little shell – one that when he held it to his ear seemed to speak the very secrets of Hephaestus and Ares themselves to his young mind.

Secrets that spoke to him about death, about the art of forging, about battles on open plains and radiant heroes of which he dreamed. Stories he'd heard from Ariadne before, but now in resplendent detail.

In silence, she had watched him become inspired to forge all sorts of weapons. Nothing other than the clicks of her tongue and the gestures of her arms and hands to tell him whether he was making anything of worth. It was not a fast going process – but when those had started to pass her inspection, she taught him how to use them.

Nothing of the situation made sense to him, until Ariadne had let it slip. She had perhaps confided to the Scythian that he’d begun to spar with his brothers, and was often on the losing end despite his strength. It was curious that as much as she was their mother’s handmaid, she spent an awful lot of time with Ariadne and him in the labyrinth.

The labyrinth in which King Minos kept his greatest shames, and Asterion could not help but wonder if Tabitae and his sister were among him in that.

He wondered what Deucalion and Glaucus would think, to know a woman had taught him how to best them? His brothers and the Scythian woman were the only opponents he had fought without the consequence of death – and she was the only one of the three he had never bested.

What had she done, to be stuck here?

“Asterion.”

He turned to the mouth of his forge, broken from his stream of thoughts, and saw his sister stroll in, a weary look on her face. A pleading look. He knew she would try again to convince him that they could live forever like this.

“I hope the day has treated you well, sister.”

The sour look on her face told Asterion all he needed to know before her mouth even opened. But then – it was also a conflicted look – different than last time.

“How could it, when you would have me be the agent of your downfall?” The Cretan princess shuffled through the room, arms wrapped around her front, clasped around herself though the room was not cold. “I’ve been worried sick all day.”

A stray cat followed her in, either particularly empathetic, or particularly interested in gaining food from his sister. He remembered a time where there had been none. When he was a small child who would have been delighted to have such furry neighbours in the maze. But it seemed in years of late the labyrinth was infested with the creatures, though he only ever saw the evidence of it when his sister came by. That, and the shits they left everywhere – those were also quite visible.

Much like people, they seemed to avoid him.

“Would you like something to feed him? I still have some of the dried fish you brought me a while back.”

But she was already crouched down, feeding the little thing from her own supply. Ignoring him.

“Ariaki.” A pet name he had for his sister.

“ _What?_ ”

He didn’t blame her for being so short with him. That she was even able to do it last time had nearly broken her, though he had emerged nearly unscathed. He was sure she would resent him forever more when the deed was finally done – and his soul would be sent to Tartarus for making her suffer though what he asked of her. For that, if not everything else about his wretched life on this land.

But it was the only way he could ensure her freedom from all this.

“Tell me, is there one worthy among them? The sword you pressed into the last boy’s hands, it made for a more entertaining fight. But a worthy one, alas, it was not.”

When the time came for his second battle with the Athenians, he was more like in age with his opponents – though still a few years shy of the eldest boy. But he had grown immensely, in both size and knowledge of what it meant to have an honorable fight. He no longer met the Athenians with words of peace. He gave them words of challenge. Sending away each frightened and unarmed Athenian away, and telling them to wait their place in line until whatever brave soul that held his sister’s sword and spool of yarn had a chance to free them of their sordid fate.

He offered them a chance, a _fair_ chance to slay him.

He would have expected at least a few of them to refuse his grim challenge, or to run from him in terror. The girls especially, as not everyone was Tabitae. But each youth he met, though he would fell them easily, was at least up to accepting his challenge of survival. 

But the count fell short of fourteen dead Athenians once dawn had come. He had only found eight willing to face him for the lives of their compatriots. The rest, though he stalked the labyrinth in search of them, were nowhere to be found. Yet, though he laid in wait for weeks, there was no retribution for what was sure would be viewed as a failure on his part.

He had been filled with disgust with himself at the idea of finding those six unwilling to meet their death, and to give it to them as they cowered. But there were consequences for failing to do what Minos asked, and what that might mean for those close to him made him fearful.

Perhaps the missing bodies were the source of the rumors of his cannibalism.

“What must I do to dissuade you from this, Asterion?” Ariadne was seated on a stone bench he had fashioned out of the labyrinth wall, head between her hands in despair. Asterion almost wanted to relent on his task, but he knew only a worthy opponent would make her act so despondent.

“Tell me about him.”

“His name is Theseus.”

Asterion laughed, “He must be a strong fighter, given what you try to ask of me now.” Asterion hummed for a second, “The last boy you sent here, I don’t think you even knew his name – let alone be so conflicted about sending him into the lair of the beast.”

“Please, do not call yourself that. You are not a beast, no matter if fathe – the King – refuses to view it that way.”

“Is he handsome?”

He laughed again when he saw his sister start, and though she denied it furiously, he caught her guilty face.

“Have heart sister, if he is indeed as skilled a warrior as you believe – you’re in no danger. After all, with you putting the keys to victory in his hands? He shall have no choice but to fall madly in love with you, and take you away from this cruel place!" It wasn't exactly foolproof, but Asterion hoped the Athenians would at least take Ariadne with them for her troubles. The palace of Knossos would not be a safe place for his sister once he was gone – whether or not they knew she had conspired with him. This was the only way.

She was pretty, and royal – even denounced by Knossos that would mean something. Asterion reasoned it wouldn't be hard at all for her to find a life once she left Crete, on a ship surrounded by young influential Athenians, all grateful towards her.

“That is not what I am worried about! Why can you not wait brother! Father is both old as sin, and mad as a goat. He shall be gone soon, and when Catreus is king-”

Ariadne was interrupted then, by her brother’s raucous laughter. “Catreus? Truly? You think he would let me free? You may have convinced Glaucus and Deucalion to see me as a man, but Catreus is Minos’s son through and through. I doubt he will see any point to keeping me alive – when I’m a symbol of his father’s shame – he’s stupid enough to think he’s able to decide when Knossos must stop paying its debts to Poseidon.”

“How can you say that? Our brother wouldn-“

“But he would. You know he would.”

Asterion watched as his sister fidget anxiously, it wasn’t as if they didn’t speak often. He shouldn’t need to be telling her this – she most of all should know.

“You know, he likes to come down here to tell me his plans. Tells me how jealous he is of how much time we spend together.” He didn’t have to imply any further what it was exactly Catreus thought. It didn’t bear uttering. Asterion spat upon the ground the cud he’d been chewing upon. He’d have to clean it up later, but the gesture was more important to him at the moment than the state of his floors. “Disgusting.”

“His intentions are not pure – especially towards you, Ariadne. He’s a disgusting hateful man – and y-you know that.” Asterion faltered slightly then, not wanting to lecture her, he didn’t need to remind her of anything. She had a whole life out there – outside.

He had no clue what was happening out there other than what she told him of. He wasn’t helping her by trying to make things clear to her that she was likely already painfully aware of. She just wanted to hope beyond all hope there would be some sort of way to avoid his inevitable disposal.

It wasn’t hard for Asterion to imagine If Catreus was king. To imagine what would happen if Ariadne were to beg their new king for his life. The idea of what he might ask of her-

He wouldn’t let it happen. It wasn’t a world he wanted Ariadne to live in, and selfishly, it wasn’t a world he would want to be alive in. The worst part, Asterion knew, was that if it were to keep him alive? Ariadne would agree to whatever was asked of her.

“I just – I want to help you! Not like this though. N-never like this.”

“Would you have me stay here forever, Ariadne? I’ve already stolen away enough of your life, just by being here. In the dark. Honing blades which shall never see the heat of true battle. I would rather you be free, Ariadne – rather than to languish forever, helping me kill innocent after innocent in dishonourable combat to sate Minos’s lust for blood.” If he could not have her be concerned for her own good, he would appeal to her love for him. The very same instinct everyone else would use to get her to fall in line. 

Awful as it made him feel.

“I shall not suffer it, and this face will not let me slip away kindly.”

“Please, Asterion, do not ask this with me. I cannot bear this!”

“If you do not arm him, I shall.” The sword in his hands gleamed in the light of the fire. 

“It would not be hard for me to do this and not involve you in it at all – I do not ask you to do this for my sake, Ariaki." He laid a hand on her shoulder apprehensively, and when she didn't push him away, he grasped her shoulder to comfort her. "Whether or not you help me, you know there is no life for me that doesn’t find completion at the end of another’s sword – so let me at least give this to you. Let my death mean something.”

He flinched slightly, as he heard a muffled moan from between his sister’s palms. He couldn’t blame her, truly. It was a foul task Asterion asked of Ariadne – 

“I hate that you are right, brother. I hate that you are so clever. I hate that our situation in life is as such, and that this might be the last time we ever speak." She was silent then for a while, but Asterion didn't reply, feeling she still had more to say.

"You would have made for a much finer King than either my father or Catreus. In a fair world, you would be heralded as the fine warrior you are – and not hidden away in shame.” Ariadne’s eyes were red as she looked at him, tears streaming down her face, he knew she must have already wiped many away from her face as she came here. The skin around her eyes was raw and slightly abraded. She was in pain, but her words were warm and earnest, qualities that he admired in her greatly and it heartened him.

She always spoke truly to him, had always seen him as more than just a monster – had even been able to convince two of their brothers to see him as a man too. 

He smiled at her then, in an odd way his bovine lips could allow. He imagined it made for a frightening sight, but Ariaki had never shied away from it. Maybe there was a world somewhere, distant, where a man such as he could walk freely on the streets or rule a kingdom. Where he would not be considered the shame of a nation.

He had long given up the silly dream of wishing he had been born with the handsome faces of his brothers, grown now, and having known the warmth of love from his family – he only wished for acceptance now. But unfortunately, other than a few exceptions, this was not a world which would grant him such.

“Let me seek an honourable death, Ariadne. That you help me, so to secure your own safety, it is all I ask of you.”

“I will. Grim as this is, you know I cannot say no to you. You've already been denied enough in your life.”

“Thank you sister. Truly, I shall be able to fight without worry knowing you shall be cared for. If he is able to overcome me, I can think of no one worthier for you.” 

Asterion knelt before her then as she sat on the stone bench, and put the sword he had forged aside. They embraced each other tightly, both somehow feeling the string of fate draw close, knowing this was not a might be. This would be the last time they saw each other, until their souls would meet again after death in the underworld.

“Asterion – I-I don’t care what’s happened – everything! I’m glad you exist. I’m glad we had each other.” Her face was buried in his chest, as he patted her back gently and assured her. “I’ll miss you.”

“Now, now Ariaki. Dry your tears against me if you must, but I warn that you will scrape your delicate skin upon my rough hide.” His words drew a few sad laughs from between her crying sobs. But though his voice was steady, Ariadne was not alone in her tears. 

“Fear not, sister. As painful as this is: promise me you will not regret it. What you have done for me is noble.” He looked down at her then, eyes brimming with salty wetness. “What you will allow for me is even more so. If not for you, and mother and Tabitae? I would only be what they wanted of me. What they expected. A mindless beast, ripping innocents limb from limb. I would not care to give the Athenians a chance, I would not be worthy of anyone’s love.”

For minutes, they sat there embracing tightly until they had both run dry of tears to cry. Asterion stood back, as Ariadne moved to rise, grasping the sword in her hands now, and hiding it in her peplos. She was now resigned to her grim task, as he watched her trudge to the entrance of forge. She wavered briefly in the entrance, looking back at him one last time.

“Love you, Asterakis.”

Little Asterion, her term of endearment was her final joke that she shared with him.

“Love you too, Ariaki.” 

Little Ariadne. This, at least, was still true.

“Don't ever forget the freedom you've granted me, the freedom not only to seek my own end, but to repay to you the kindness you’ve shown me.”

“Until we meet again, whether in Tartarus, or Asphodel.”

“Aye, in Tartarus or Asphodel.”

Her sombre smile before she turned her back on him, her black peplos fluttering before she disappeared into the darkness following the gleaming line of yarn – it was the last the great starlike Asterion, Bull of Minos, saw of his sister Ariadne.

-

𐄌  
_the hero, the bastard_

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Theseus stood waiting in a verdant sunroom, watching the ocean from a window. He was clad only in a chiton that came just above his knees, and his limbs had been massaged and oiled for the ordeal which awaited him. He could almost pretend as if he were about to compete in some sporting event. Wryly, Theseus thought of how _considerate_ it was for his gracious hosts to keep the athleticism of the task at mind when dressing him, and to provide such scenic views. 

To leave him alone at that. Very generous.

He supposed it wasn’t so strange. He was unarmed – and had apparently caught the eye of someone important. Even if it was just to send him to an earlier death in the eyes of the Cretans. 

Who was the girl? He would guess it was one of Minos's daughters from the way she stood next to the Queen – but then she didn’t really resemble either of them greatly. More to the point, she seemed a bit old to be Princess Phaedra. The other two princesses had long ago left Crete.

He supposed she could've been a priestess, and that was what gave her oversight of him and the labyrinth. But then, she also still looked younger than him, and it was quite an amount of authority to wield. It seemed unlikely for her to hold such a high position without a little bit of nepotism.

He wasn’t surprised she singled him out though. She’d been unable to keep her eyes off him, once he’d challenged her king.

All throughout their walk to the hovel they’d imprisoned his comrades in – she’d flitted her eyes back to look at him, just a nudge shy of meeting his gaze. It was this sort of shy maidenly perusal that had caused him to be surprised when she’d suggested sending him in first to his death, and how easily she got her way. Not that he meant to argue with her. It meant he was sure to have the glory of saving all his compatriots.

But for her to help him, well, that was unexpected. 

Well, not entirely.

_Theseus remembered his long walk through Attica – from Troezen to Athens – not so very long ago. The labours and adversaries he’d faced were numerous, but now in particular he remembered the incident in Isthmus._

How he had fought the robber Sinius – a devil who used the very trees of the forest itself to rip apart the unfortunate and unsuspecting souls he came across. When Theseus had inflicted his horrible method of execution back at him – well, he at least could not argue the efficacy of the technique. 

Now, while he was sure it wouldn’t have been _impossible_ , the task itself had been made much easier by the aid of a girl – what had her name been? _Perigon? Peregrine? Perigune?_

Eh, that didn’t matter so much as that she had been Sinius’s daughter – and she begged him to take her with him and away from her murderous blackguard of a father. When he’d told her he could do her one better – that he'd make sure Sinius would never find her and to let her be truly free?

Well.

He wasn’t been the one who’d said ‘I’ll murder him for you’. Only implied it.

__

She was the one who’d acknowledged it – and the one to come up with the plan! She had distracted her father after the springy young pines had been bent back low to the ground, ready to whip up if not for the ropes that bound them to the earth. Sinius had only just been preparing himself for the next unwitting traveller to pass by.

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He hadn’t even heard Theseus coming – and was quite a disappointing wrestler. Lashing his wrists to the trees had been almost too easy.

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Theseus had been coloured intrigued when he found the bandit’s daughter hiding from him later in a bed of rushes, as if she hadn’t been complicit in the murder of her own father. She had looked so sweetly afraid – but he’d promised not to hurt her.

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The night they’d enjoy between the pines that night – far away from the grisly remains of Sinius – it was something of a wild affair. One Theseus felt his loins stirring at the memory of.

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He hadn’t taken her with him – and he had never promised to. The road he was on was perilous, but danger or not – he was not headed to a place where a bandit’s daughter would welcome.

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It wasn't as if her performance had been lacking, and Theseus did sometimes miss the easy ways he could interact with people back before he was known as a prince.

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Once he became _king_ though? Well, he was sure that he would miss very little at all.

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A shuffling behind him alerted him to a new presence. Shook from his thoughts, Theseus was turning around – and there she was. His little helper, and no one else. How important was she that she could get them alone together?

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“Who are you?”

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She smiled at him anxiously, and looking at her closer now, Theseus supposed she had some fine features – silver eyes, fine dark hair that fell in thick voluminous tresses from her head, and a nicely defined bone structure. Not bad at all, really. Curvaceous body too, or he suspected as much under all that fabric – the cinching of the girdle at her waist enlightened him to a few of her hidden treasures.

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He supposed she had just paled in comparison to her mother when he’d seen her earlier. Pasiphae the nymph – Witch Queen of Crete. She was absolutely radiant, and exactly as you would guess a daughter of Helios to be.

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Quite peeved at him too, when he’d been about to bring up Minos’s own, ah, issues with paternity.

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“I am Ariadne, a princess of Crete. Mistress of the labyrinth.” The last bit had been said with a mite of apprehension, as if that was the part of her title which eluded him despite it being most obvious. Perhaps she had no clue of it – but Theseus had never heard of this Ariadne of Crete ever in his life. Not for a lack of research either. He had done his homework before coming to Crete. A mistress of the labyrinth had been heard off, but one of the _princesses_? What a waste. Was it due to the secrecy that surrounded the labyrinth itself?

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Fair Acacallis, Xenodice, and Phaedra – their names were known through the Aegean as great beauties, as Minos tirelessly searched for proper husbands who would be willing to accept the progeny of a seemingly cursed lineage. Theseus mused that perhaps this princess was married to her duty – though it seemed a waste in his opinion.

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Wouldn't she be more valuable in a proper woman's place – minding a household and a powerful husband, instead of a maze and a monster?

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She bit her lip – and he noted it as a sign of her nervousness, considering what she said next. “You must be wondering. Why.”

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“Why does a princess keep a labyrinth?”

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Ariadne looked confused for a second, as if she hadn’t even considered such a thing to be odd. As if it was natural for her to have such grim duty – curious.

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“No – why I’m helping you.”

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That was also quite a pertinent question. Theseus assumed it must just be the same old story of a woman wronged – especially considering how little he’d heard of her. There were no pleasant reasons for keeping a child in the dark. Was she a bastard too? Did Pasiphae had another child by someone other than Minos? It didn’t seem improbable.

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Theseus was a curious lad, but it was an easily suppressed curiosity if time was short – being a practical man as well.

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“That depends on how much longer we have. If you’re just about to escort me in, I’d rather cut to the chase. How are you going to help me?”

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“We have a bit of time – dusk should be in a bit over an hour.” 

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Leaning back against the stone wall, he crossed his arms. She seemed so uncomfortable – and yet _she_ came to _him_.

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“The labyrinth was made so that the shadows lay in a particularly confusing way – but only after dusk.” Ariadne shrugged. “So we wouldn’t send you in before then.”

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“Right." Theseus waited for her to elaborate, but she seemed to be waiting for him to ask. "So then – why?”

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“We – I need to escape from this nightmare.” Ariadne walked up to him and pulled something out of her peplos – and he was surprised that it hadn’t given itself off from within as it glowed. The object itself wasn’t remarkable for much else, just a clew of thread. But the glow gave it an almost metallic bronze quality – refracting the setting sun.

__

“This will help you cut through those maddening shadows – and also find your way should you turn down a wrong end.” She pressed it into his hands, and Theseus could feel her fingers quaking. When he closed a fist around it he noticed how she was almost hesitant to let go. Her voice was suddenly clear, without hesitation, but her body still told a different story.

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Experimentally – Theseus slid his other hand gently overtop Ariadne's to still her – and pulled it away as he took the yarn from her. Watched her eyes widen, and his own lazily half lidded as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her fluttering wrist.

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“You must have suffered greatly.” His cadence dropped to a low whisper, as he let go of her wrist. 

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“We both did.. My brother and I.”

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Theseus raised a quizzical eyebrow at that, then raised the other in shock when she told him she wasn’t speaking of a Cretan prince – but the bull?

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“You call that monster your... brother?”

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He wasn't necessarily aghast – old maids did seem to have an affinity for caring for monsters. As long as she wasn't expecting him to spare the bull, he would keep his tongue. That was non-negotiable.

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“...None of us had any choice in this – other than the King.” Ariadne told him firmly, poison on her tongue as she spoke of her father. Though vague, Theseus could guess what she was referring to. Everyone talked of how the powerful and great royal family of Knossos was cursed. Cursed by Minos's ill made choices. To be besieged with so much misfortune and grief – it was no wonder they were so secretive.

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It was indisputable fact the king had tried to covetously keep the beautiful white sacrificial bull bestowed upon him by Poseidon. He thought the god fool enough to not recognise when Minos slaughtered one of his own cattle instead – keeping Poseidon's beautiful white bull for himself. It would be the same bull that would rampage the fields of Marathon many years later, until it became one of Theseus's first heroic triumphs as a prince of Athens.

__

Less indisputable, but still widely talked about was that his wife had been beset by a lustful curse from the sea god, and had evidently transformed herself into cattle herself to do the deed. Pasiphae and her sisters were no simple nymphs of some such forest or babbling brook – and such manipulation of her form was not unheard for a witch.

__

The alternative was that Daedalus had been instructed by the queen to construct some fanciful contraption to allow the coupling. As if a nymph would need such artifice.

__

It was known that once the deed had been done – Poseidon lifted his curse upon the Queen, only letting her stew in the horror of what she'd been made to do. From this accursed couple, she begat a monstrous child. One that for its grotesqueness, and a rumored hunger for human flesh, had to be imprisoned by Daedalus to keep from the public.

__

Or perhaps to keep the public from Minos's shame? It was hard to know the truth on the mainland, so far away from this island.

__

Already before all this, the colossal Talos had been slain in battle – by the aid of the Queen's own neice Medea. Their heir to the throne murdered in a fit of jealous rage by Theseus’s own father at the Athenian Games.

__

These things may have been unrelated – as they were long before the ugliness. But now people spoke as if _those_ were somehow brought about by Minos's angering of the gods too.

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Cursed.

__

Though Knossos had won the war they waged some twenty years past over the death of Androgeus – the price that Minos and the Cretan fleet had extracted for their victory only added to the cruel talk circulating about Minos and his city.

__

“Asterion’s more human than rumors would have you believe – h-he just wants a fair fight. For an honorable adversary.”

__

So curious – was she mad as well? He'd only know once he delved in the depths of the maze himself. But even if there was a grain of truth to Ariadne's tale – it wouldn't do much good for him to empathise too much. For what made a monster? Was it the machinations of their mind, or the actions of their body?

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“And you think I can do that for him?”

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She looked up at him then, her eyes strangely sad as she said this. “I think you might be the only person who can.”

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This Ariadne of Crete was a strange girl, a curiosity Theseus planned to figure out – and if this was headed where he suspected, there would be plenty of time for that. Later.

__

"Aye. I can do that, at least – give him an honorable fight before I slay him." She was surprised – and Theseus wasn’t sure why. Was it simply that he’d agreed to at least pretend to treat the bull as an honorable opponent?

__

The bull was worth some measure of respect – whether he be raving animal or calculating human. After all, Theseus had already doubted this would be an easy task. If the bull was not a worthy adversary there would be no point to being here. 

__

For slaying Ariadne’s monstrous brother was his key to respect from his fellow Athenians – to silence those who would try and bar him from their society because of his ‘legitimacy’. Or rather, his lack thereof upon arriving in Athens.

__

He would defeat the bull and prove himself, and he would have Ariadne know that, because by Athena's name he would succeed. The goddess herself had assured him of her favor. By her hand – he was to become king. That couldn’t happen if he was to die here, and for a goddess to promise such things did not come lightly. Perhaps, his Lady had even known that this girl would be waiting for him here.

__

That, at least, was the source of some of his unending confidence.

__

Whether or not he truly viewed the monster as anything more than what it was – it was unimportant. He gained nothing by not at least seeming amenable to what was a truly simple request. He wasn't so filled with righteous indignation or so stupidly prideful he would scorn the hand that would provide his victory.

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“Have you done this before, with other tributes?” Theseus asked her, raising an eyebrow. Ariadne seemed nervous – but her earlier words were too steady to be the first time she had said them.

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“...Yes.”

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“Do you truly want me to win against your brother?”

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“I-I.. _don’t know_.”

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“Did you say that to them too, as you sent them to their deaths? Did you want them to win?”

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“No – never.”

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Aha, what an interesting thread he had revealed – and Theseus was bold enough to pull upon it 

__

“What makes me special, princess?”

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“No one has ever come here as sure of their victory as you.” Surely this was true – but it wasn't the answer he was looking for.

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“And?”

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“No one’s ever come here and spoken to my father like that. You know he’s _mad_ – don’t you?” There was a nervous laugh then – but genuine. It was a pleasing sound to Theseus's ears.

__

“Ah, so you liked that.” Ariadne didn’t answer him, but neither did she deny. “What else do you like about me?”

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Her eyes were diverted then as he stepped forward. As she took a step back. “Oh.. I-I suppose you’re quite handsome?”

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“You suppose, eh?” Theseus smiled at her then, all gleaming teeth shining in the light of the sunset.

__

“T-There’s a sword for you. I’ve hidden it just around the corner of the first turn of the labyrinth – o-on the left.” Ariadne was grasping one elbow in front of her, trying to change the topic. "It should be easy to find."

__

Theseus wasn’t so acquiescing though.

__

“Surely this help doesn’t come free, Ariadne – surely you want something from me, don’t you?” He said her name in a drawling casual manner as they repeated the dance. Him stepping forward, and her stepping back. Again and again, until she hit the wall, and it was only then that Theseus pulled back, having her right where he pleased. No – these things _didn’t_ come free, though he had an idea of her price.

__

A princess was truly a much, much better wife than a bandit’s daughter.

__

Ariadne would be a perfect prize, he thought. There was an air of the dramatic about the idea of her. A secret Princess, the daughter of his enemy, _keeper of the labyrinth_. Athens would love it, and she’d be a perfect bride of conquest – without him ever needing to lead an army. She looked older than an unmarried princess should have been. A bit of an old maid, but Theseus didn’t mind. She still seemed quite young enough, at least, for him to sire an heir or several.

__

How could she say no?

__

After all, what did a princess locked away by her father dream of more than a dashing prince to rescue her?

__

"I just can't seem to explain it." Theseus drew closer to her then, close enough for them to feel each other's breath. Cupped her cheek, as he looked her in the eyes and searched within them. “But I feel as if you could ask for anything – and I would be unable to deny you.”

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What he found there pleased him – _anticipation_.

__

Ariadne seemed the type, just as Sinius’s daughter had been. One who sought safety and protection by any means in the face of the cruel circumstances of her birth, and of her blood. Perigune had been just as flighty as Ariadne at first – before he’d whispered sweet natterings into her ears. If the princess sought Minos's downfall, then she knew that Theseus might be the only one truly able to achieve it. She wouldn’t be able to resist.

__

He sunk to her knees then in front of her, and looked up with beseeching eyes – knowing there was but only one thing she could ask of him, and only one way he was going to provide it to her.

__

“Please – ask me of anything your heart desires, Ariadne. So long as I might be able to give it to you.” 

__

He was all warmth and charm then, as he wore an expression he hoped conveyed that he might attempt to move the world for her if she asked. The thought he might? It was more important than whether he actually could or would.

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“Take me with you?”

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The words were admitted slowly, unsurely. As if she herself didn’t want to take what she asked for, and truly she hadn't even asked for much. Not nearly as much as he'd hoped for her to ask for. It was curious – but Theseus was pleased as it was half of his equation. If she wanted to survive? He knew just as much as she did that there would be nothing left here in Knossos for her if he were to succeed.

__

After all, what purpose was there for a mistress of the labyrinth if there was no more purpose to the labyrinth? Why keep her such a secret, unless she'd never been meant to be anything more to begin with?

__

All Theseus had to do was present the option. The illusion of freedom – or perhaps what she had been looking for all along? If it was, she was a good actress for every step of the way, seeming as grim as could be at the prospects she was presenting him.

__

He couldn’t deny her sombre purpose which suffused their interactions, and how well it suited her dark looks. Another way he supposed she resembled her mother – they both looked so pretty when they were upset. Queen Pasiphae with her face twisted into hate. Ariadne with her despair.

__

Theseus knelt in front her, cradling the palms that had given him his key to victory so shortly beforehand. Pressing kisses to him as he declared, “Oh, beautiful Ariadne. I swear by the lady Athena herself! I shall bring you to my city, and you shall be my queen for this deed, my love.”

__

-

__

𐄍  
_the princess_

__

__

__

  
His love.

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Ariadne’s heart fluttered wildly at this prospect. As mistress of the labyrinth, until now, she had never dreamed of escape from her grim task. Her older sisters Acacallis, and Xenodice were gone now, one married, and the other – she couldn’t quite say she knew the fate of.

__

As for her young sister, Phaedra was far more beautiful and less shackled by responsibility and duty. The only reason she hadn’t been married yet was the very thing they were trying to distance her from – the very thing Theseus intended to put an end to this very night.

__

He loved her?

__

Asterion had said something about him falling madly in love with her – but he’d been joking, hadn’t he? Neither of them really knew much of it, apart from the stories Ariadne had told him from the outside. Both the fanciful legends and the rumors from the grapevine. 

__

"I-I'm not sure what to say." Ariadne wanted to look somewhere else, anywhere else. But instead she found herself looking down, drawn into Theseus’s blue eyes which sparkled so nicely in the orange light. He looked so charming on his knees in front of her – and she couldn’t help but feel that stupid phantom fantasy of two years past rise up in her heart. When she had thought Phaedra’s suitors were her own, wasn’t this exactly the situation she had dreamed of?

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But this was reality, and instead of Asterion somehow impossibly coming to join her – his life would pay for her dreams to come true.

__

“Won’t you say yes?” He held her hands to his face then, cradling his well defined cheeks. She could see how thick his eyelashes were. Downy and just a touch darker than the hair on his head. He truly did look the part of a noble prince, and he had actually agreed to what she asked of him. He didn’t call her stupid, or crazy, or anything – like most did when she would insist on Asterion’s humanity.

__

She wanted to say yes – _she would say yes_. But at the moment, Ariadne was simply overcome with the prospects of what reality had brought for her.

__

When Theseus’s hands moved to her hips, Ariadne was unfamiliar with the touch. His large hands filled with the generous curve of her flesh. His grasp was firm, and then he was standing again. Looking down at her, pressing her against the wall and his face was so close then. His gaze intent upon her as he leaned in – savouring her as Ariadne was trapped and unable to pull away. 

__

Ariadne was distantly aware that perhaps she liked having nowhere to go.

__

This was just a plan – she didn’t want to have to choose this – to choose Theseus. Yet Ariadne wanted him. That made her feel more awful than anything else about it. Part of her wanted this.

__

Theseus closed the gap – she could feel his eyelashes against the skin of her cheek for a second – and then he was kissing her. Could he feel her cheeks and the itchy heat they radiated? Could he feel the trembling in her fingers?

__

Ariadne was so shocked, she almost pulled away. Not for lack of want – not quite – but because no one had done that before. She knew her brothers and sisters had tended to dally with some of the palace servants, among others. But Ariadne never had. Had never even been interested. Though now she was starting to understand the appeal? Perhaps?

__

She wasn’t sure – _but she didn’t want Theseus to know_. She was too old to have so little knowledge of how to do these things. She was sure, so sure that if she pulled away he would realise how lacking she was.

__

So Ariadne moved her lips against his – opening when he eventually teased her lips with his tongue. Having tested the waters, Theseus pulled back to let them catch their breaths for only a moment before diving back into her. Before she could get a word in.

__

His tongue swirled against hers, sweeping across her delicate wet cavity, and he sucked lightly at her own tongue as he retreated – and she followed compliantly. 

__

Her chest was pushing into his body and one of his hands snaked to the small of her back. It pressed her hips against him – a frenzy of movement and sensation. She felt something in between his legs, something she’d only heard about in the abstract before.

__

From her mother at one point – but most of the times she'd heard it spoken of was when it came to some of the more creative insults the filthy mouthed guards of the labyrinth used with each other.

__

Was that a _cock_? Wait – _what_ -

__

Ariadne pushed Theseus away then, both of them open mouthed and panting heavily, feeling each other’s hot breath pour on to each other.

__

“W-we aren’t married yet.” Ariadne bit her lip, as she realised what her statement had passively informed Theseus of. How it told him everything he needed to know about her intent regarding his proposal. Of her acceptance – and there was no denying how taken she was with him now. But – then – It was all so fast.

__

“I might die tonight Ariadne.” Theseus’s face was serious then, as he toyed with the fastenings at her shoulders. Not quite undoing them as of yet – as he waited for her to capitulate. ”If this is the last time we are to see each other…”

__

His eyes were so wide then, so expressive – Ariadne could fall into them.

__

“Can we not pretend as if we are husband and wife already? We have so little time.”

__

Despite herself, despite her apprehensions – Ariadne said yes.

__

Theseus had her up against the wall again, faster than she could imagine – hands pulling up the skirts and fabrics around her legs and lips pressing everywhere but her mouth now. She muffled herself as he found a particularly sensitive spot along her neck. There were guards outside – though they were accustomed to not being curious, as it wasn’t unheard of for royalty to take liberties.

__

But they would still come running if she cried out – and Ariadne would die of shame if anyone saw her now. Chillingly, there was a part of her that recognised a truly awful fact. There was a distinct chance her family could care less about her fucking the Athenian – all things considered. Escaping with him in exchange for Asterion’s head, in contrast, would fill them with anger.

__

There were passions and frissons of sensation starting to slide along her insides. Right along a circuit to the spot between her legs, as a sinking feeling followed right behind it. The result was a potent combination, one that drew all reason from her mind and into the sensuous exploration of her body by Theseus. 

__

One of his hands, with her warm core now exposed to the cool open air, pressed a two fingered greeting to the front of her small clothes. Ariadne couldn’t contain the short gasp which came from her then as he started to move them. The way the fabric would slide against her most sensitive area, it at both times seemed to deafen and magnify the sensation of his fingers rubbing against her covered slit.

__

Her head tipped back and all she could see was orange light on the ceiling before her eyes closed shut.

__

There were nights that she had done similarly – shamefully and secretly. Ariadne wasn’t entirely innocent of these things – and yet when he touched her there it was like a fire on her flesh, ten-fold what she’d ever experience at her own hand.

__

“ _Theseus_ – what are you doing to me?”

__

His mouth was occupied and he didn't answer – though one of his hands was undoing the fastenings on one of her shoulders. Until the fabric came free, and all that kept her breasts from his view was the strophia bound across them. But the strip of fabric didn’t hide the little hardened nubs which had woken up beneath it – little buds which Theseus ran a finger across, ever so lightly flicking the sensitive flesh. 

__

Then suddenly he was taking a mouthful of the material. Tugging it down with his teeth to free a tit of any barrier between her and him, propped up and presented by the tension of her strophia underneath it.

__

Oh, and how he took advantage of it – his tongue laving against the flesh of her tit, before rapidly concentrating on her straining nipple. Lips enclosed around it as he pinched it lightly with his teeth, before giving it relief with his tongue. The sensations he introduced her to had rapidly worn down any boundaries Ariadne might have thought to put between them – especially as those two fingers so exquisitely and excruciatingly circled her nub.

__

His grip was a slow but firm orbit of the bundle of nerves at her core. Under the fabric that covered her warm mound, she could feel the slipperiness of her folds – easily awoken by Theseus’s ministrations on her body.

__

Suddenly he was laying her on the floor – tugging the fabric of her smallclothes down too – drawing it to her knees, and then her ankles. And then it was gone. Lost. Somewhere unimportant. It was flesh on flesh then, when his fingers slid inside her, and she was unable to stifle the little noises his raw touch brought out of her.

__

“You’re _very_ sensitive Ariadne.” Theseus whispered in her ear – drawing out pleasant and surprised gasps and whimpers as he truly tested out the extent of what he claimed, building Ariadne up to a fevered pitch. Then – just before she was about to reach that _glorious absolute point_ , he pulled away. Replaced his fingers with the feeling of something hot against her flesh, larger and thicker than his fingers.

__

Ariadne remembered him asking her if she wanted it. Not for permission – but if she wanted it.

__

He was rubbing his cock against her slit, rubbing its head across her seeping furrow as her juices let it slide freely. She could only murmur incoherently at him – barely there as her mind was filled with the sensation. There was a yes somewhere in there, though Ariadne could not be asked to pinpoint when she’d said it.

__

He took her almost immediately as she relented – sliding into her slowly. Working the tip into her already slippery folds – _she could feel herself stretching_. Suddenly with a confident thrust he seated himself fully within her.

__

As wet as she was, she thought of how it could have been more painful. There was a strange feeling of detachment from her body, as Ariadne thought of how it wasn’t as bad as her sister Xenodice had told her it would be. Though she still felt it. But along with it, a phantom pain in her back as her mind drifted to things she had experienced that perhaps Xenodice could never imagine. But then her mind was pulled from the thought, as Theseus pulled out from her.

__

Then stabbing pain as he entered again, the widening of her channel past its limit. Theseus’s cock was inside her – as nothing else had ever been. It was different – and Ariadne couldn't deny the discomfort, but it was far from unbearable. There was even a strange pleasantness she could see herself finding in this unknown fullness.

__

Right now though – _thrust_ – she – _thrust_ – wasn’t – _thrust_ – sure.

__

Theseus slowed for a moment, pausing to run a hand up her arm, which felt cold to the touch despite the warm Cretan summer. Bent down to kiss her slowly, before pulling back and directing her head down.

__

“Look at us.”

__

Ariadne looked down, and watched the spot they were joined. She had felt it – but this was the first time she actually saw it. His cock, swollen, and thick _and then it was inside her again_.

__

Ariadne glazed over as she dimly heard the slapping of flesh, and looked up at Theseus, dazed from everything. He was beautiful – as always. But there was something particularly natural looking about him then, without the hero’s facade he seemed to wear. Or perhaps it was unfair of her to say that a hero could not be as uncompromising as him.

__

Was not a hero unrelenting in their pursuit of greatness and to conquer destiny? As he started to stoke more tinges of pleasure from her, Ariadne found herself wondering if that was what he was doing to her. Conquering her.

__

The determined set of his eyes brows, the gritting of his teeth, and the look on his face spoke of his sheer confidence in his possession of her. Then there was something he was doing every few thrusts – a grinding circular writhe of his hips that drove Ariadne crazy, and the thoughts were lost.

__

She wouldn’t find her release here, Ariadne realised – even though the feelings of Theseus’s fingers and cock in her body were intense. This situation was simply too much, too overwhelming for her to truly let go.

__

When Theseus suddenly stopped with a shuddering jerk and spent himself inside her – filling her with a warmth Ariande wasn’t quite sure how to react to – he was back on his feet in no time.

__

He pointed out how dusk had apparently drawn near.

__

“Well, ah – if we only had but an hour, I’m sure we’ve spent most of it.” He was smiling at her – wiping himself off on the foliage – she noted dimly in her haze, he probably had no clue which plants were and weren’t safe to do that on. He was lucky though – that one just made things smell nice.

__

He stood, waiting for Ariadne to fix her clothes – she was pulling the strophia properly back across her chest, placing the fibulae of her peplos back at her shoulder again, refastening her girdle, and letting the warmth in her cheeks cool just a tad. There were no tears on her face – though Ariadne wasn’t surprised by that. She’d felt much worse than this in her life. However, she’d never felt so.. hollow before.

__

As if she should be changed, and yet she felt and looked no different than before – other than an ache between her legs. Feeling what he'd left inside her seeping out of her all the while – she felt profoundly emotionally empty.

__

After she was dressed, Theseus came to her. He brushed her forehead with the back of his palm just before giving her a short embrace – and strangely it all felt better. The dull ache between her legs softened – and for a moment she could pretend this was love, that this wasn’t exactly according to a grim plan she’d agreed to.

__

Pressed against Theseus, in the embrace of his strong arms, Ariadne could forget everything she had just done and set in motion, and what it meant for her here on Knossos. So easy to forget she didn’t want Asterion to die by his or any man's hands. So easy, when she could feel Theseus stroking her hair, his voice whispering in her ear that she was his ‘good luck charm’.

__

"Tell me you love me, Ariadne."

__

" _I love you, Theseus._ " She gasped against him, the words dropping from her mouth unwittingly, immediately – even if she didn't quite believe them yet.

__

He stirred enough feeling in her heart, she could pretend for this moment that nothing was real other than the two of them here. That it was not as if – for all intents and purposes to the city of Knossos – she was now a traitor and a slut.

__

When they broke their embrace, a suddenly silent Ariadne led him to the labyrinth.

__

-

__

𐄎  
_the bastard_

__

__

__

__

  
Cats. _There were so many damn cats._

__

No one had ever mentioned this about the labyrinth when they spoke of the beasts that dwelled within it. It was only ever of Minos’s bull. Theseus was glad for the moon shining in full force upon him that night, illuminating the ground through the open roof of the maze. Made it much easier for Theseus to avoid the cat shit – but other than the feral cats, it was only him walking down these treacherous halls.

__

Theseus had spotted his fellow Athenians on his way out of the palace, escorted by the lovely mistress of the labyrinth. They had looked at him with such worry and – more galling to him – with pity. He considered those faces as he ran a hand along the wall, and let the spool fall, shining his way through the shadows that twisted around him – just as Ariadne had said would happen.

__

Those doubtful faces his countrymen had shown him, despite everything he’d done. Despite all the trials and tribulations he’d already overcome before he’d even stepped a foot on Crete – how they had watched him dive to the depths of the ocean to retrieve the stupid ring that Minos had dared him to.

__

They all watched him prove himself a true son of Athens – and yet still they doubted him.

__

He would prove them wrong.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'd love to hear people's thoughts, whoever reads this. I definitely have some fun/non standard ways I'd like to take this myth- but first! Gotta cover the classics.


	2. The One Where Asterion and Theseus Get Physical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus and the Minotaur battle with their weapons and their bodies, while Ariadne is enlightened to some uncomfortable truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thymele
> 
> thym·e·le | \ ˈthimə(ˌ)lē \  
> noun  
> an ancient Greek altar  
> especially : a small altar of Dionysus standing in the middle of the orchestra of a theater
> 
> (There's an NSFW image in this chapter, so consider yourself warned.)

𐄏  
 _a hopeful girl many years past_

  
“Ariadne? How much further is it – i-it’s dark..”

“Glaucus! You cowardly little shit, the dark isn’t half as scary as the thing she’s taking us to.”

“Shut up you two! The guards might hear us – we told them we were just looking for Glaucus’s cat!” The admonishing voice of her brother Deucalion was perhaps louder than either Glaucus, or Catreus, but it did the job anyway. Besides, they were far enough in that it wouldn’t be a problem, by Ariadne’s estimation.

“Petra’s okay though, right?” Her younger brother’s voice asked unsurely.

“I saw her napping in a bush on the way here.” Ariadne assured him, “...it’s really not so dangerous in here, anyway.”

Ariadne kept her hand on the right side of the walls, as she didn’t quite remember the tricks and turns of the labyrinth yet. For as long as she could remember, she had been led by others. That is until recently – but at first it had been by Daedalus, then by Tabitae.

In her left hand, she held a spool of yarn as she took her brothers into the labyrinth. Only just given to her, since she was apparently old enough that she needed to start learning to mind the labyrinth herself.

Perhaps it was normal for children at their ninth stormy and rainy winter to be wandering in a large maze alone and unattended. Or at least to Ariadne it was. Still… she liked having company.

So when her two older brothers approached her one day, one shyly interested that perhaps she would take them with her one night – the other, silent and surly – of course she let them come along. Not that she could really say no.

Then, when Glaucus heard of what was to happen? _Of course_ he couldn't be left out.

The piece of yarn glowed and dispelled the shadows which snuck across the maze at night, ones that drove men mad, or so her mother told her. But then, she never came down here – her only contact being the odd message she would tell Ariadne to bring Asterion. Ariadne didn’t quite understand why it had to be this way, but she knew not to ask questions.

The yarn always helped her find her way, and maybe soon she wouldn’t even need it. Every day – and night as it was now – she would traverse the labyrinth with her spool of yarn, and the more she did the less she seemed to need it, at least as other than as a light to ward away the shadows. The way was starting to become clear in her mind, as she had begun to start observing instead of being simply led around.

Looking behind her, at her brothers, they all looked a bit fearful – Catreus included, though she could see he was trying to be brave.

“How do you know the way so well?” Deucalion asked, his voice a bit shaky, but mostly conversational.

“What makes you think that?” Catreus laughed, “Feels like we’re going in circles.”

“Well, she’s not shaking for one…”

“I took a couple wrong turns.” Ariadne admitted, but then – here they were.

She saw the rooftop of the labyrinth, and she knew they approached Asterion’s home. Ariadne thought about how it was very nice of Daedalus to make sure Asterion had a roof over his head. His son Icarus had been nice too. He had been one of the first people she’d taken into the labyrinth for some company – and he got along so well with Asterion!

She hoped fervently that her brothers would all get along too.

They stood outside the large pair of cypress doors, carved with an effigy of the sun and the moon, and a bull that stood with a radiant corona in the middle of the sea overtop the figure of a penitent man. A man with a crown. Sea daffodils, and dolphins were carved into the space between, demarcating the area between land and the sea.

When she turned around to look at her brothers, they were all staring at her. Ariadne was a little surprised to see even Catreus was willing to defer to her at this moment.

“So, uhm… Before we head in just – please? Be nice.” Ariadne looked at them – Glaucus might listen as he was still more little than her, but Deucalion and Catreus were older. They were excited to see Asterion, but she was nervous that they might not have the best reasons at heart for it.

At least she was sure they would keep it a secret.

Whether or not by design – her father was happier the less he heard of Asterion at all. So, as long as her older brothers didn’t tattle on her for letting them into the labyrinth – all would be good! The less Ariadne thought of what had happened in the labyrinth last summers past, the happier she was.

She didn't blame Catreus for it though. She couldn't.

“He’s really excited to meet you.”

He probably could hear them outside the room by now – but Ariadne knocked anyway out of courtesy.

The door opened just a tad – and the sight that greeted them first was Asterion’s large wet nose protruding, as he shyly peered out.

“Um. Hello...”

There was a long period of waiting, and silence – and truly her brothers were all surprised that Asterion was even capable of speech. Or being shy. It made her a little angry to think that she’d told them as much and yet they still acted like this.

She opened the door a little bit more, and Asterion was still only brave enough to stick his head out. It was a bit funny to just see a bull’s head sticking out of the doorway, and the horns on his head were just little nubbins. Hardly terrifying. But the neck was clearly off from how either cattle or human should appear – and the rest of him was hidden behind the door.

Away from all the rumors, she thought their brother looked disarmingly innocent. After all, Deucalion and Catreus were still taller than Asterion, it was hard to be scared looking down at the ox-eyed child.

“This is Asterion – who I told you all about. He’s really nice! He likes stories about heroes too! And, uh, he’s our brother.” All Ariadne could see was the surprise on their faces, and so she kept on talking and proposed something she’d had on her mind for a while.

“I was thinking, maybe…" Ariadne trailed off as she twiddled the linen of her chiton."We could play hide and seek?”

Everyone around her, they all looked shocked. In the labyrinth? Surely she was mad. The shadows would eat them up without her yarn!

“In the daytime!” She said suddenly, making sure they knew she didn’t mean exactly-right-this-moment. “Another day. If any of you want to come with me sometime…”

Glaucus was the one who piped up first, surprisingly enough. “Sure!”

Deucalion just tipped his head to the side as he considered the situation, before his face settled into a warm smile – well practiced by the prince.

“Asterion, it’d be a pleasure to meet you properly – if you wouldn’t mind coming out from behind that door.” Deucalion’s voice as he addressed Asterion was warm as his smile – a bit artificial, but he was trying at least. “Or maybe we could come in?”

Surprised, Asterion moved back into his room, still standing behind the door. Though he left room for people to come by him. Again, Glaucus surprised her by being first to enter. Being the one to propose the idea, Deucalion followed soon after.

Catreus was last, hovering at the threshold with his arms crossed. His face bored a petulant frown, as he looked unsure of what to do.

“You’re all fools if you think I’m going to just walk into the lair of a beast!”

Deucalion had started to argue with him, yelling about how he’d promised to behave – he was the only one among them with any sort of authority to. But nonetheless, Catreus stormed off a few short minutes later, without any sort of regard for what that actually meant considering his location. Considering there was no moon that night.

“He’s… going to get lost.” Ariadne spoke fretfully. It was all going so much worse than she thought. “I have to go after him.”

Ariadne had to run – quickly before Catreus was too far gone.

She left Deucalion and Glaucus with Asterion, nervous as the idea made her. She begged them to stay put, to please please get along. Begged them not to run off, and promised that she’d escort them out as soon as she was done with Catreus. That it wouldn’t take very long at all! But there was a fear in her when she’d come back, something would be wrong. More so than it was already.

Before she left, she threw a crude childish joke at them, mentioning how easy it would be to find Catreus since he had most definitely peed himself running away. There’d been little snickers at that from the three of her brothers, and Ariadne felt a little spark of hope.

It really hadn’t taken long to find Catreus – and not because of what she had joked about.

She only had to follow his voice.

He wasn’t stupid enough not to answer when she called out for him. The labyrinth in the dark, it was made to strip people of their wits and turn them astray, and he was still only half a boy. It had a way of breaking down barriers – and Catreus was crying in front of his younger sister when she found him.

Not heavily, just sparks of terrified wetness that he dried quickly as he saw the light of her yarn.

It was a moment of vulnerability he showed her then, and it surprised her. As she led him to the entrance of the labyrinth, she nervously made him swear up and down that he wouldn’t tell their father – please! He’d agreed – if only on the promise she wouldn’t tell anyone she saw him crying.

So they had a deal.

When Ariadne returned to the heart of the labyrinth, she peeked through the door which had been left ajar. She heard laughter inside – but still she couldn’t be sure. Her heart grew when she saw the three of her brothers sitting in a circle. Each argued about which hero they thought to be the best.

“Perseus! Perseus is the best!” Glaucus exclaimed, about to go on about all the reasons he thought him so. Ariadne had heard this argument before: and it chiefly consisted of the fact that Glaucus found snakes to be very scary.

Ariadne agreed about the snakes, though for very different reasons.

“Aeacus.” Deucalion had stated calmly, and she saw Asterion perk up at that. Ariadne hadn’t told him the story of the king-turned-underworld-judge, primarily because she found the tale boring. “He was quite strategic, you see…”

She stepped in then, happy to see her brothers get along. As she sat between the two younger brothers, Deucalion launched into a story about wise King Aeacus, a man so just that the gods themselves called upon him to settle their arguments and disputes.

Ariadne just smiled, as she thought about how happy Asterion must be – despite Catreus’s rejection – to know what it was like to have brothers.

𐄐  
 _the stuff of legends_

__

  
It was an hour before Theseus realised he’d finally made progress – how many times had he recrossed the same path of yarn he left, how many passages he had explored? Theseus was unsure.

But suddenly, the maze had a roof – and though it was dark inside, he could see a light shining deep within, large finely crafted cypress doors bared open. He could feel the warmth of a great burning fire inside, and as he entered he realised it was the heat of a forge.

There were other doors in the room, to where he could not say. More than that, the room was filled with a veritable arsenal of weaponry, bolted to the walls. But he had precious time to consider them, as he was met by a sight he could not believe.

For when Theseus beheld the majesty of the Minotaur, he was suddenly and impossibly besought. For a moment he could see none else.

He was mostly man in form – that much Theseus could see. Tall, and much larger than him, but still with a good overall symmetry that suited his body. The large ropey muscles of his shoulders might have looked strange on another man, but this was where the hulking mass of his torso met the more chimeric elements to his body. The thick neck of a bull. Theseus couldn’t see his back, but he imagined it must be quite developed from holding the bulk of his head up.

He had thick shaggy hair on the top of his head, a creamy white in colour – _just like the Cretan bull_ – it contrasted against the honey brown coat that covered his skin, starting at his face and tapering away from the tops of his shoulders and chest. There was a spot of white on his neck, and on his cheek. His eyes were expressive, looking at him with exactly the human intelligence Ariadne had promised. _His eyelashes were so full._

Theseus was certain, somewhere, Eros must be drunk with Dionysus and up to no good – because he could almost swear he wanted to bed this monster. Perhaps Poseidon was having a joke at his expense? _Is this how Pasiphae felt?_

But then he’d met the Cretan bull. Fought it, and captured it. By then it had been known as the Bull of Marathon, and he had not seen more beauty in it than that of wild beast. To think it was the sire of the strange and pleasing creature which stood in front of him, more ox-eyed than Hera and in the truest of fashions? Impossible.

Ariadne. The woman he’d promised to marry and the last person he’d shared his body with – she was attractive, surely. He’d found pleasure in her body – once he’d taken a closer look.

But it seemed that the only looks Theseus was capable of giving the bull were close ones. Caresses of his eyes along the hard planes of his body which seemed to scream out to be held by him.

He thought that surely Eros had dropped an arrow and unwittingly pierced his poor heart. This man would be the death of him – nay this _monster_. The Athenian prince was loath to humanise the bull, and he couldn’t risk turning back now, else it would all fall through his hands.

Holding up the sword Ariadne had given him, and letting the yarn fall to his feet, he shouted a challenge to the bull, doing as the princess had asked of him. To show her monstrous half brother a measure of respect, as if it was the least he could provide to her – other than his offer of marriage and escape.

“Asterion! Bull of Crete! Show me your blade, for I am Theseus, Prince of Athens. I slayed your father in the Temple of Athens, in glory to my Lady Athena's name! Now I shall let your blood flow in the name of my noble city, that we shall no longer have to toil under your treacherous king!” Theseus took a breath to bellow his last boast. “Minos’s cruel thesis to the death of Androgeus ends here!”

With all too human care and precision, Theseus watched the great muscular body of the bull heft up his labrys, and – was that a _smile_? Who was this man? To smile at him as they fought to death, as his heart beat with the burgeonings of Eros’s treachery – and what inhuman _strength_ did he have to heft such a preposterous weapon?

Theseus was surprised as the bull spoke, not in the bellowing voice of cattle, but that of a man. His heart hammered, and he recognised this voice rousing his passions – so beautiful it was – so deep and masculine.

“Aye, I accept your challenge, Prince of Athens. Show me a good fight- _a good_ _death_ – and earn your freedom from my lifeless corpse.”

Holding the axe out in front of him, out toward Theseus, the bull gave the prince a tip of his horned head, a moment of respect, before he started swinging.

“For I shall not give it lightly!"

From that moment on, there were no more words spoken. Just the whistle of blades, and the grunts of combat. With each parry, with each heavy swing of the axe head which Theseus was barely able to dodge, he felt his heart beat stronger. His damned fucking heart.

He expected to face ferocity. To face raw savagery. He thought that it would be like the bull of Marathon again – and he would be facing a raging animal. But today he faced a man. A man whose careful precision, and collected persona in battle fiercely rivalled his. A man who he would have been honoured to fight alongside in the battlefield, were everything different.

Theseus was smaller – and much quicker. A great boon towards him, as he was sure that even one strike from the great weapon of the bull would fell him immediately. But great as his stamina was, there was an end to it. He had to find some way to change the tune of this fight.

A minute or two passed, and he started to feel the toll of exertion upon him. This kind of intense one on one combat with no room to even _breath_ rarely ended up so protracted. The nature of the fight tended to prevent it – and he knew he’d have to make his move soon. Theseus knew that he would get no closer to the bull were he to keep the labrys in front of him. So with great effort, and no small amount of bravery, he let himself be knocked to the ground by the arm of the Minotaur.

With the great double edge of the axe gleaming in the light and his enemy thinking victory was sure – ready to end his life – Theseus rolled out of the way, letting his sword cut along the bull’s thick wrist and along his hands. When on his feet again, he heard the clattering of metal to the ground. Yet there was no cry of anguish, nary a sound at all from the bull, other than his heavy breathing. He too stood and met Theseus face to face as his blood dripped onto the floor.

When the bull spoke again, Theseus knew he was lucky his opponent was not so mouthy as he. To hear that voice in the heat of battle would have surely made him lose control upon his senses, as it did now. He would have died at that bull’s feet, so long as the Minotaur sang his lament as he butchered him.

“I think that I have prayed for one such as you, these many years past. Twenty one springs – my whole life. Long before those black sails first arrived.”

Did he truly? Theseus wondered if the bull could feel what he felt now, as with the stirring of his heart and loins, he could not think of a situation he would pray for less.

“If you think to sway my blade from your throat, don’t think I’ll be so easily fooled by such stories, blackguard!”

“Hah! Never. I shall fight you even with my fists – down to the very last moment. I will make you work for your victory, Athenian.” The great man let his chiton fall to the ground, and took a formidable stance from the art of pankration. Theseus had never seen any warrior so handsome or resplendent in the nude – and he had seen many. His cock didn’t look half bad either – though much larger than was fashionable in Athens.

Not that Theseus much cared about what was ‘in fashion’ when it came to the delectable appendages of his lovers. His hands tightened around the handle of his sword as he pushed such thoughts away again, not with thoughts of Ariadne – but with thoughts of his duty.

“I have only had the blades and bodies of a Scythian woman, my brothers, and the weakest and most expendable youths of your great city, Prince. Of all, you are the only one to come close to the prowess of my mother’s handmaid!”

Theseus’s face went red, as a hot brand of anger went through him at what he assumed was an insult.

“You mean to mock me? I admit I was almost swayed by your blathering-”

“No. I would never dream to mock a worthy opponent such as you.” The honesty in his voice then, it made Theseus pause. “To have a fight such as this, to have the possibility to die in a warrior’s revelry is all I have ever dreamed of.”

“People do not generally bring their mother’s handmaid up when _complimenting_ someone.”

“I’ve never met another. Are they not usually fearsome?”

When Theseus informed him that this was not the case, the bull gave him a genuine look of surprise – and it shocked him.

So earnest, Theseus thought as he started to wonder what else his opponent might be ignorant of, if something so elementary eluded him. How sheltered was this fine warrior, who seemed to know so little of the world outside of his family and his labyrinth? He supposed he could see how that might be the case, if Ariadne had been his main connection to the outside world.

“Hmph. Maybe I have misjudged you, bull.”

“Then Prince – let me ask you a favour, before you make your attempt to slit my throat with that sword – one that I fashioned from my own forge.”

Theseus observed the blade – and despite the battle with a much heavier weapon, it sat in his hand unchipped and undamaged. It was perfectly balanced and perfectly made despite its dark origins, much like its maker. On the pommel he saw a bit of decorative metalwork that was in the shape of a pouncing cat. _Artwork_. This bull made _artwork_.

That was the last straw – Theseus could see the Minotaur in front of him as a monster no longer, even knowing how many of his compatriots had fallen to this beast. This was a man – an unfortunate son of Crete, who deserved much more than the Fates had allotted him in life.

Yet it did not make his task any harder on him, knowing that, just more painful. No _love_ , or _respect_ , or _honor_ would sway him from his task – not if he was to be king.

“I shall not grant you your life, Bull, much as I would love to.” Theseus started to circle around the bull, as he talked and they both faced each other. “I truly mean that. Your prowess in battle is unmatched – by anyone except for myself, of course.”

Theseus made a feint with the blade not truly engaging him as he still had words to say. Still, he struck with intent. One should never swing a sword without it. He was not disappointed by the grace the bull showed as he danced out of reach and retreated.

“Your sister I can take back to Athens and claim as my bride, easily. But my countrymen would slit my throat, even Prince as I am, if I were to return with the bull of Minos as my general – or blacksmith…”

Or as his eromenos. He had said he’d waited for _twenty one springs_ – a bit old for the practice, but still one younger than Theseus himself. He was young enough in any case – and Theseus was old enough and confident enough to teach.

“Do you think me touched in the head? No, I only wish for you to give me a proper burial – if you best me. To place an obol in my lifeless mouth, quench my forge, and place my body in it. To seal its entrance, and call that my tomb.”

“Aye." Was that truly all he wished for? Was there nothing else that the bull would ask of him?

"I can do that for you bull, but I wish I could do more.” His voice was thick with desire, for the bull was not only beguiling to his eyes – but also skilled, an honorable and gallant opponent. Theseus could not say the same for a great majority of those he fought. It had to be clear, surely the bull would hear him and know his appreciation, his love for the art of battle that the bull has so clearly mastered.

With a curiosity, he realised his words elicited confusion on the face of his handsome bull.

“W-what magick do you weave on me, Athenian? I asked you for a _fair_ fight – not what you inflict on me now.”

Theseus's heart sang, as he now knew that he wasn't alone in this impossible feeling that should have never existed between a hero and his monstrous quarry.

“Have you ever known the touch of a man, bull?”

“ _What?_ ”

Theseus could taste the surprise on the edge of the bull’s voice, screwed higher into a crackling pitch which would have been more natural for a boy a decade younger. He was sure if the bull’s coat and skin were able to, they would positively blushing. A _maiden_ as it were?

“I take that as a no then. Would you like to?”

Shocked silence was his only response, and all Theseus could think was that it was not a no.

Putting down the sword, Theseus let his own chiton fall to the ground just as the bull did, and he stood and took a stance matching his opponent’s.

“Before your death, wouldn’t you like to know how warriors fight each other with their bodies? The kind of brutal wars we wage on each other, without trying to bring about our adversary's death?”

The bulls eyes were wide with _fear_? Or was it anticipatory curiosity? His eyelashes were so full, and more beautiful than any human’s could ever possibly be. He wondered if the bull of Minos had ever imagined that such an offer would be possible for him, and to come from an Athenian prince no less, offered as his tribute.

No, he didn’t suppose the bull had considered this an option.

“I-I must now be the one to accuse you of trickery, Athenian. What game do you play at?” Why, the bull sounded almost nervous – Theseus saw his opponent _truly_ behold his form. To see the half formed hardness between his legs, that grew even harder as he watched the bull’s eyes pause on it.

“It is a fight of submission, not of pain. I see you know part of it, but that is practice between brothers of blood. This is a game brothers of war partake in, bull.”

“My name is _Asterion_.” There was a sort of pettishness to the way he replied that aroused Theseus further. The bull was done observing his form, he noticed, and had naturally focused his eyes on the ground to avoid gazing upon his cock. So demure.

As he approached the Minotaur, there was no more retreat from his opponent. Only nervous shuffling, as Theseus affectionately reached up to feel the surprising softness of the coat that covered his face, and slid the other down the sweaty flesh of his abdomen. Heard a sharp gasp just above him as he nipped down quickly to quickly taste a nipple, and ran his tongue along him.

He looked up, and met the gaze of the bull – _Asterion_. His eyes were heavy with need, though tinged with a sort of hesitance. There were questions in those eyes, so many questions.

“ _Theseus._ ” Ah – Asterion would use his name, now? No more _Athenian_ or _Prince_? It was then Theseus knew he had him.

“Just know that whatever happens now, between us – it changes nothing. Come dawn one of us shall be dead, no matter how sweetly you come for me.”

Whatever question Asterion had died in his throat, as Theseus’s hand finally reached his cock and grasped him smoothly, confidently – before lazily stroking it.

“ _Please._ ”

-

𐄐𐄈  
 _the princess on a precipice_

  
Ariadne watched the labyrinth from her window, heart in her chest. The prince had long ago disappeared into the maze – but the woolen spool he held shone brightly – to her, if no one else. Her body was wracked with tremors, ones she remembered from seven years past – the last time she had gone through this.

She was so afraid. Afraid Asterion would win. Afraid Theseus would win.

She watched alone, with Tabitae at the door. Her mother should be with Phaedra now – keeping her little sister away from the horrors that this night would bring.

They wouldn’t have any clue what would be happening tonight. Much as she’d wanted to tell them, Ariadne couldn’t be sure how her mother would react – and she wasn’t sure that she could rely on Phaedra to keep the secret. Only Tabitae knew. She understood – more than Pasiphae ever would. She would be the one to lead Ariadne to the docks of Knossos if Theseus were to exit victorious.

There was a host of ugly feelings in her, thinking about what it would mean, to be leaving her mother. There was a part of her which wanted to believe Pasiphae would protect her after the death of Asterion, that she could live here helping her mother weave her spells and incantations for – forever?

Did she want that?

Ariadne wanted to see places – she wanted to leave the palace complex. Curled up, head pressed to her knees as she reclined in front of that window, Ariadne considered all the prices that wanting things seemed to cost.

Asterion wanted a battle worthy of songs and stories – at the cost of his end. Ariadne wanted to go and live a life she wasn’t even sure how to live, paid for in so many different ways. By providing the means for the hero was to cull her brother, by likely never seeing the people closest to her ever again, by submitting to Theseus.

When Asterion had proposed this awful plot to her eight years ago, she had never imagined she could ever actually want any of them to overcome Asterion in battle. Or more plainly, she couldn’t imagine wanting any of them to live more than she wanted her brother to.

At most, she had thought she could maintain a begrudging sort of gratitude and affection towards whatever man would give her freedom while boasting about how great he was for murdering Asterion.

But Theseus had been so entirely different than anything she had imagined. He had listened when she pleaded for him to look at her brother as a man, and not a beast – even if he must kill him. He had seemed skeptical – and his face couldn’t hide that from her, but he didn’t outright deny the possibility. Or patronise her as the last Athenian had done, even as she placed a sword in his hand.

She swallowed tightly every time she saw him turn down a wrong corner, and worried her lip more and more as she saw him approach the roofed complex in the middle of the labyrinth. Where Asterion was waiting for him, as she too waited for the prince to emerge.

Covered in her brother’s blood.

They wouldn’t question her if she walked through the palace at night, no one questioned that the keeper of the Labyrinth would have some ugly business to do under the cover of darkness. Perhaps the guards even expected it now.

If dawn came, and Theseus still had not emerged – ‘ _If Theseus dies_ ’ Ariadne amended herself, knowing she shouldn’t use a euphemism for what would surely be the truth.

If she watched her brother emerge to stalk the passages of the labyrinth – she knew the cycle would start again. That she would go down to tend her brother’s wounds with Tabitae when it was all over, as always, and this ugly business would be put to rest again until another seven years had passed.

Did she want that? _Did she?_ Despite everything Asterion had asked of her, the _opportunities_ he wanted to provide for her – she wasn't sure. Even if Theseus had awakened feelings within her with his eyes full of stars. With the way he had touched her, and the things he had whispered into her ear as the sun was setting outside.

Ariadne’s eyelids fluttered unwittingly as she remembered, and her legs spread slightly at the thought – opening herself at the very thought of him.

So unbelievably charming as he professed his affection and gratitude. He’d called her his love – and she had returned it.

A lie.

‘ _Wrong._ ’ Her thighs snapped shut.

“Ariadne.”

She jumped a good height in the air, wondering who it was that Tabitae had let it – she never let anyone in on these nights. Who would even want to disturb her? Had she been caught?

Then she saw who it was.

“Mother?”

Pasiphae stood in the doorway, lit only by the moon coming through Ariadne’s window. On her face she held a manic expression. Her hands were twisted into her regal looking peplos, anxiously tensing the fabric.

“You need to come with me, Ariadne – now.” Pasiphae was suddenly striding towards her, grasping Ariadne by the wrist and shoving a himation at her, in spite of the warm weather. Telling her to cover her head with it, even as the pace with which her mother pulled her gave her no time to do so, the fabric flowing out into the air behind them.

“Where’s Phaedra—” Ariadne yelped as she was taken into the hallways by her mother’s unyielding grip, her questions going unanswered. Tabitae was nowhere in sight – where was she?

There was only a moment for Ariadne to meet her mother in the eye, as she found her bearings. “Mother. Tell me where we’re going.”

Did she know? _Where was she being taken?_

“We’re leaving.” Her mother stated finitely, her words short. “Now stop being difficult, we don’t have time for this.”

The way which her mother took her was familiar as could be, the path to her mother’s quarters. For now at least. But the words she spoke made little sense, and Ariadne’s head swirled as she considered what her mother had said – leaving? To go where? Phaedra was still a mystery, and there was also the matter of the Athenian prince she’d already promised to abscond with. A matter that Pasiphae seemed to still be ignorant of, or at least she hadn’t brought up.

“But – what about everyone else? Where is Tabitae?” Ariadne’s pitch raised a notch, as she started to panic. “Why?”

“Child. Things are not going to be safe for us soon.” Ariadne bristled at the words, knowing that her mother was about to make her authority known. “I can explain all that later – right now I just need you to listen and follow.”

“How!” Ariadne finally broke, addressing the doubt that lay most heavily on her. How could they leave? Where would they go?

Ariadne hardly even had time to absorb the words, as there were footsteps coming down the dark hallway, coming towards them – too many to be comforting. They stood in the entrance to the more private quarters of the Queen’s chambers, illuminated by the fire burning in the hearth room just beyond. Her mother’s expression deadened as she took in who it was behind Ariadne’s back.

“Why not explain everything?” A cool sardonic voice intoned, familiar to her ears. “Worried she might not listen if she knows the truth?”

There stood her brother Catreus and in his hands, a bridle. His eyes were intense, wild. Behind him stood the missing Tabitae – a furious grimace set upon her face.

She held the King, a bound and struggling Minos with his mouth gagged. Though he attempted to fight her grip, the short Scythian held fast, barely showing any effort as she kept him subdued.

Minos’s favourite son had apparently become tired of waiting to be king, and more bizarrely than anything else _Tabitae_ was involved. Ariadne whispered one last question to the woman beside her, begging her to explain what Tabitae was doing – eyes imploring her to say _something_.

Nothing. Her mother said nothing, only fixing her eyes upon the clinking metal and leather. Held so tightly by her eldest brother, it was as if he thought he might die if he dropped it.

Ariadne pulling her wrist from her mother’s tightly clasped fingers, finally stepping away from her. “What are you talking about?”

He scratched at a beard on his chin, patchily grown in, before he tipped his hand toward Pasiphae. “Surely you want one more chance to set things straight, ' _mother_ '?”

“My womb would never bear a fruit so foul as you.”

“Because my mother – she was so much more foul – more shameful than you? You who let herself cavort with an animal?”

 _His_ mother? Ariadne blinked. Catreus, the heir of Knossos was a bastard?

“Her sin was in not knowing her place. She deserved her fate.”

So harsh and cruel was the tone of her mother's voice, Ariadne was taken aback. She seemed almost a different woman, and she wondered how much of this had just been hidden from her all these years.

“She had no choice – and you had her executed for it. You think you’re better than her? Because of your lineage? You parade a foreign whore around the palace!” He gestured towards Ariadne, his hands curled like claws. “ _Your most beloved child is a bastard like me!_ And you think to judge?”

“I’m a bastard?” Ariadne’s blood ran cold.

“You’re going to fall for his lies?” The Queen spoke through clenched teeth, and all Ariadne could think at that point was that anything would be better than the sheer refusal to give anything up. Her mother was always very particular about everything having a time and a place – and Ariadne felt herself rankling at this philosophy more than ever right then.

Asterion asked terrible things of her, but he never would never lie to her in order to get her to fall in line. She knew him. Her mother – she was starting to think that she might have never truly known the woman. Backing into the hearth room, Ariadne was acutely aware of the window that faced the labyrinth, and how easy it would be to call out to whoever emerged. To tell Asterion to run far away, or to call out for help from Theseus.

To leave with her mother? The possibility had barely presented itself before being snatched away. But would she have gone if it hadn’t? What was her mother hiding? _Why was Tabitae helping Catreus?_

-

𐄐𐄉  
 _the monster_

  
Asterion was of two emotions. Aroused and bewildered. Their bodies were tired and spent after their round of fierce combat, and he couldn’t be sure if the sound of his heart rushing in his ears was from the fight, or from the prince’s hands upon him.

Then his lips – Asterion hadn’t been quite convinced that the prince hadn’t used some sort of magic when he felt that enthusiastic wet mouth on him. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be a warrior, and yet, he came undone so entirely. Not from the prince’s sword, but by his own body. By the softness of his tongue, and his hollow sucking cheeks.

There had been no escape from the utter truth of it all, as Theseus would grab him by the ruff of his neck when his eyes started to wander, unwilling to let Asterion’s mind be occupied by anything else than the man between his legs. He would leave Asterion with no escape other than the one that this hero, this beautiful golden haired son of Athens, was willing to give this monster with his mouth.

Asterion couldn’t control himself, unable to contain the sheer tension that being touched by another could release. He was embarrassed when he quickly spent himself across Theseus’s face, but had no clue as to how he could’ve stopped himself. _No one had ever touched him like that before_ , and his cheeks were hot with embarrassment when the prince’s rich laughter filled his ears.

Asterion had almost wanted to pull away then, filled with a hot awkward shame. He wanted to stop this charade and get back to killing each other, since the prince thought this was all so funny. He was shocked when he was pulled down harshly by his horns to look into the prince’s eyes, even as his seed was spattered shamelessly across Theseus’s face. The prince seemed to inspect him closely then, and he felt his hair stand on end, as he started to wonder why he was letting this happen –

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing for a boy as green as you to be embarrassed about.” Asterion elected to think that boy was not an improvement over bull. “I’m not tired of you yet. It’s fairly common for someone so… _inexperienced_ as you to spend himself so easily, bull.”

“Asterion.” He asserted correctively as he shook Theseus’s hands from his horns, putting his hot and sweaty back to the wall of the room, and cooling his flushed skin.

When he was a small child, there had been moments spent with Daedalus’s son, Icarus. Asterion had held a sort of fondness in his heart for him – before both Daedalus and his son had disappeared, spirited away when the king had become paranoid they would spread his secrets. But even then he’d known something inherent about himself, even isolated as he was.

There’d been a few times he’d spied some of the guards stealing away into the shallower depths of the labyrinth to conduct – _things_. It had given him only the vaguest visual idea of how things had worked, and of how to pleasure himself.

Asterion’s appreciation of the masculine form, it seemed so natural to a boy who grew up dreaming of the stories and legends. The heroes that decorated his walls had always captivated his attention – but no one had ever _taught_ him about how people _fit_ together, or the things he had come to want – and he didn’t quite have the vocabulary to express himself.

Theseus had helped him with that. Given him new words to express himself. Enlightened him towards something he hadn’t even dared to hope for in his life – and once his initial shyness was overcome, the fight began anew.

Asterion grabbed the prince then, and spun him around so that his ass lay flush against his flaccid cock. Like every other part of the prince, his ass was perfectly sculpted, his body perfectly symmetrical in its athleticism and its beauty. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, or what he should be doing. Though there was a distinct possibility that his current actions were the furthest things possible from what he was _supposed_ to be doing.

“You’ll have to enlighten me then, prince.”

He wouldn’t let himself be outdone without at least trying – or that’s what he told himself, when he ran a long tongue along his hand, and wrapped it around Theseus’s hard cock, nestled in a patch of curly dark blonde hairs. Sticky precum leaked from the tip, and Asterion smeared it across the head as he took in the girth of the other man. It was shorter than his, but at least as thick.

“Show me how much your experience has tempered you.”

He began to pump Theseus mercilessly, letting his teeth, neither quite human, nor quite bovine, meet the skin of the prince’s neck as he nuzzled his snout in to sniff at him, and his nose was filled with the scent of olive and laurel.

The prince arched his back into Asterion, sliding the cleft of his ass along his cock which was rapidly waking up after its short nap.

This would be just another battle they waged. Afterall, what was combat, but to show complete mastery over your opponent’s body? When Asterion ran a large hand across Theseus’s chest, tweaking his nipple just as the prince did to him with his teeth, he was pleased to hear a shallow grunt leave the prince’s lips. For his abdomen to shudder subtly, in a way that could only be identified as the onset of an uncontrollable twist of his hips.

As Asterion leaned back against the wall, he let them slowly slip to the ground – one hand on the prince’s cock and the other beneath his ass, as he spread Theseus’s legs with his own.

When Asterion moved a hand along the seam of his crack, and let a thick finger probe his tightly puckered hole, Theseus froze.

“ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” Asterion would have stopped, shocked at the vehement response. Was there something he was missing, something wrong? This was something that never failed to bring him to completion – did Theseus not like it?

But then, he wasn’t the one leaking a stream of pre cum out of his shaft, as his enemy teased his asshole.

Asterion moved his hand off of Theseus’s cock then, spreading a thin sticky smear across his stomach. He wrapped an arm around the prince’s chest, anticipating a struggle. Yet he only received a token amount of pushback, as Theseus mainly hurled names at him, shameful epithets and allusions to the bull’s lack of honour.

Yet, where it _really_ mattered – with Asterion’s finger still pressed against him – this golden hero seemed to be lacking any real resistance. Maybe there was something Asterion could teach him.

He seemed to shut his mouth, once Asterion moved a hand back to his cock.

“What’s wrong, prince? I do it all the time.” He pressed his finger more insistently at the hole now, not quite entering, but swirling in a tight circle as he worked the prince’s tight little entrance.

“I realise you essentially _grew up in a hole_ -” Theseus interrupted himself with a tight sounding gasp, as the tip of Asterion’s thick finger finally worked its way inside him. “But this isn’t done, bull! It just isn’t done! No respectful man of Athens would let someone-”

“I wasn’t aware that respectful men of Athens layed with monsters.” Asterion muttered darkly into the hero’s ear. “Is letting me play with your asshole really so much worse than wearing my seed all across your face?”

Well, to be fair, Asterion’s fingers weren’t very little at all.

“That’s different-”

“You’re going to come, right?”

He could feel it – something familiar in the prince’s breaths, in the way writhed against him – the way his hole twitched in response to his words.

Asterion could hear the grinding of Theseus’s teeth as he spat out his words.

“Not because of-”

“My thick fingers in your tight little ass? Because you don’t like feeling ashamed?”

His fingers pumped in and out of the mouthy Athenian, as his hand milked his cock in time.

It was with those words that Theseus sprayed himself over the ground, and Asterion finally released the Athenian from his grip and his assertive fingers. The prince had apparently lost his ability to talk, impossible as it seemed. But the way his eyes were glazed over, and the heaviness of his breaths indicated that he was overcome with something at that moment.

Asterion stared down at him, with no small amount of disdain.

“So very sad when it happens to you.” Asterion picked a limb off of him. One of Theseus’s feet had wound itself overtop and into the crook of his knee in the heat of the moment, as his other foot had scrambled for purchase on the floor.

“I never held you down, bull.” Theseus seethed at him. “Are you just feeling sensitive because you came so early? Some sort of resentment for me turning you into man before you meet your end?

“Like I really had a choice! It’s either your pity fucking or-” Asterion choked on his words, not wanting to admit his vulnerability. But then, he was never known for mincing his words. “Or nothing at all, ever, just never knowing.”

“I’m not fucking you out of pity, Asterion.” His tone was short. Clipped. Honest and devoid of his usual airs, and yet to Asterion this honesty was more charming than any put on affectations. “You honestly captivate me – in a way that somehow makes me want to throw away my purpose, if only for as long as I can ignore it for. I can say the same of nobody else.”

There was something important in that statement, something that felt wrong about it. As if he was forgetting something.

But all he could think of then was of how strangely sweet the words were, to have come from the lips of his aspiring murderer. So Asterion could only mutter hotly, “I’m sorry about.. What I did. I didn’t know. It seemed like you enjoyed it, so I didn’t want to stop.”

Theseus was silent again, though he sighed. For the moment, only able to press his face into the thick shaggy fur of his neck as he littered the column with kisses, starting out gently only to evolve into toothy claiming affairs.

Then the battle continued, as their bodies slid against each other once more.

-

Asterion laughed, a buzzing feeling underneath his skin as he absorbed the reality of what had just happened, of what he had just done. That this somehow hadn’t been a trick – that there was a very real chance that he had fucked the very hero whose defeat of him they would sing songs about. That the hero had as few qualms about swinging a sword to take off his head, as he did about pressing a kiss to the bridge of his long nose just above his wet snout.

“Do you think Cadmus fucked the dragon?”

Theseus, to his credit, didn’t even skip a beat in his reply, “Or perhaps that Perseus let the gorgon ride him into sweet oblivion?”

“You’re the educated Athenian prince – you tell me.” He wiped the sweat off of Theseus’s brow. “If they did, my sister certainly didn’t mention it in the stories she told me.”

He blinked – _Ariadne_. How had he forgotten her – how could he forget her?

Had he been so blinded by the heat of battle? As if the world had only consisted of the two adversaries when Theseus had made his want of Asterion known? So lost that there was nothing in his mind other than the indefinable Athenian prince as he laid his carnal intentions bare before him?

If only he’d been thinking at all, in any sort of capacity, if he had only the experience to know what Theseus had been after when he first started to approach him. Before the heady embrace of want had overcome all else.

Asterion would have never have let the prince touch him with such ' _familiarity'_. This man who was _supposed_ to be his sister’s intended. Unless that wasn’t the case – and unease swirled in Asterion’s stomach, alongside anger. At himself, at Theseus.

Had he just taken her gifts, and promised her nothing? If he had refused to offer anything in return, Asterion knew Ariadne would not have pushed the matter – how could she?

“This is… Why did we do that?”

“Oh, having regrets?” Theseus gave him a look, as if to say the concept of such a thing seemed ridiculous to him.

“ _You’re marrying my sister._ ” Wasn’t he? “Aren’t you?”

“You really _did_ plan this out, how clever of you both.”

“Answer my question, prince!"

“I must admit it hardly occurred to me to consider that detail.” Theseus laughed to himself, and about what Asterion wasn’t sure. “So what?”

“You kid, surely?”

“I won’t be telling anyone.” Theseus drummed his fingers along Asterion’s chest. “Would you? If you lived?”

What sort of man was he sending Ariadne to?

“Come now, don’t look so glum.” Theseus kissed his temple, and Asterion let his eyes close as he enjoyed the feeling one last time. “You did quite well… We might even have time for another round? Before we say goodbye that is.”

But contrary to the words he spoke, his tone was cold. He was already standing up – pushing to his feet. The offer was there – but the prince was astute enough to realise Asterion wasn’t quite so _in the mood_ anymore.

Theseus stood undaunted in front of him, stretching his body, before picking his sword off the ground.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

Asterion only glared at him, selecting a spear from a dark corner of the room, rather than the heavy labrys that gleamed the light of dying embers back up at him. Theseus would have more options with the sword, and Asterion would only have thrusting attacks to rely upon – but he would have reach. He would be faster too than with the heavy axe.

“I’ll make sure they sing songs of us, Asterion.” His voice was dripping sweetness, insipid as it was now to Asterion’s ears.

“This was wrong.”

“ _Of course, this was wrong!_ ” Theseus shouted – momentarily losing his collected demeanor at Asterion’s truth, shaking with anger for a second, before the mask returned. “We cannot help the things we want… bull.”

“Would they still call you a hero? If they knew what we had done?” Asterion’s blood was boiling, steaming under his skin. Somehow in that moment, even as he felt his fate hanging over him heavy as an anvil, he wanted to win. Even if it meant going against everything he had planned, everything he had ever wanted. “Would your cities still sing stories of your honor and valor? Knowing you _enjoyed_ a monster’s finger inside your tight-”

“ _Enough!_ ”

Asterion had no more words, and neither did Theseus, as he launched himself towards his enemy.

Theseus was beautiful in battle, he was charming, his face as handsome as Asterion could have ever imagined, and he had _seemed_ every bit the hero he had always hoped he could trust Ariadne to. The kind of hero he had always dreamed to be – and if he was entirely honest, to be _with_ as well.

But this hero – he just as much a monster on the inside as Asterion was on the outside.

There had never been any pretense between the two, even before their liaison – their battle had been fierce. But it had been sport more than anything else. Now it would be brutal. No words of thanks or praise. No banter.

The air was filled only with grunts of exertion, and a litany of metallic sounds. The reverberating clang of metal on metal, the sound of it slicing through the air – the sound as it sliced and pierced slickly through flesh.

This was the battle that songs would be sung of, one of sheer brutality. One between two men with purpose.

Theseus, who fought for his city, for his people, for his acceptance – and Asterion who fought to hang on – to keep Ariadne away from the hurt that this man of ambition would wreak upon her. He fought to _endure_ , no matter how shameful his existence would be, stuck in this labyrinth.

For the first time since he was a young boy, Asterion fought to live against this monster in human skin.

For Ariadne.

-

𐄐𐄊  
 _the sad god_

__

  
On an island in the middle of the Aegean Sea, Eros was drunk with Dionysus.

It was a time of celebration for Naxos, as their harvest of the vineyards was just coming in.

The two of them sat next to each other, cross legged and watching the vine god’s camp from atop a hill. Down below, there was a particularly rousing and drunken rendition being performed. A tale someone had woven of Dionysus’ triumph over his cousin – the King Pentheus.

Distantly, punctuated by the bleating of goats, the shepherd Eupraxia’s lyre could be heard. Little pangs of beauty, nearly drowned out by its caprine accompaniment.

From their vantage point, with their keenest of eyes, they had some of the best seats in the house. Seats that afforded them some privacy, at least.

As it was, when away from the prying ears of mortals – the gods spoke differently.

“You really gotta break up with that girl, Dio.”

Dionysus simply glared as Eros peered back innocently.

“I’m worried about you!”

“Well, it’s kind’ve your job.” A bit of an understatement, considering that their entire relationship had been founded upon an impossible task that Aphrodite had set her son upon.

The woman had always had a bit of a fixation upon him – ever since he’d met her as a boy, walking into a land nestled between two rivers. She’d bore a different name there, and sported elegant wings not unlike her son.

Looking upon him with such sad eyes, she patted the small newly-realised boy on the head as she’d whispered, ‘ _Oh you poor thing._ ’

Dionysus supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that she had figured it out before him.

“Listen, I know you’re going through something kinda weird right now.” Eros coughed. “Your little… situation. I mean, it breaks my heart thinking about what it’s like for you.”

It was embarrassing for Dionysus, to have people fuss over him like this. More than that it was insulting, to be treated as if he was something that needed to be fixed. Dionysus drank heavily from his chalice, which Eros had filled for him. The dark skin of his face was flushed, and not with wine. “This is nice – you tried that tip I gave you last time?”

The erote ignored the obvious attempt to change the topic with all the deftness that a drunken man could summon.

“Like, seriously. If you’re not into sex anymore… Like, that can’t be good for the earth!”

Dio swore that they’d had this conversation a million times before.

‘ _The ecstasy of Dendrites under the holy frenzy will restore the earth._ ’ It was a rather flowery way that some maenad came up with to express the rather carnal truth of it all.

All this tradition they’d concocted around him, built around an undeniable truth that the places where his camp traveled would enjoy the most fertile of soils in the next year to come.

Dionysus rolled his eyes, and interrupted Eros who had gone on to worry himself about how Psyche’s newly planted vineyard would be dependent upon his friend’s waning desire. “My body’s not having any issues performing its duties if _that’s_ what you’re worried about.”

Really, he shouldn’t have had to address this.

“It’s more of a mental thing, I dunno. Something fundamental missing.”

“And what’s she got to do with all that?”

She was a nymph who’d followed him from the tides of Icaria – an island far to the east from here. She had learned recently that she could dig her hands as eagerly into the flesh of his body as that of an animal during her sacrificial rite. He hated every minute – and she knew it. In a twisted way, it had come to be the only experience of intimate contact he’d grown to savor.

“I don’t really want to ascribe meaning to it, you know? Meanings are personal – contextual. When Psalacantha comes to me… It feels more real than anything else at least. It’s abstract – I dunno.”

“I do know! I literally know exactly what is up because it’s my job! Just like it’s your job to say weird things that make very little sense.”

“I just, well… It’s easy to act, isn’t it?” Theatre was his great domain, and he was used to playing many roles. “I don’t mind being what they need in that moment, being what the earth needs of me. None of that is a problem, right?”

“Right.” Eros agreed as he watched Dio start to open up.

“I just don’t really _want_ to, per say. But it’s not like I’m opposed to it – I’m just doing my job.” He shrugged.

At first, laying with his followers seemed fun, seemed proper even – a natural manifestation of the freedom he offered when they sought him out. Dionysus was malleable for them, whatever their heart desired – he could be anything they wanted, other than himself. That he felt nothing for them as it happened seemed of no consequence, as it made it easier to move from person to person without worry.

When he had remembered that past life of his – of how he had been crowned with vines in the first place – it became an outlet for his grief. It was an awful thing, to learn that something had been missing all along. That no one had been able to inspire the same _feeling_ within him, though his body still rose to the call.

Now it was simply responsibility, an obligation and fulfillment of purpose which he accepted as his part in the grand mystery of the world. If a ruddy faced follower were to seek him out in the night, under the pure frenzy of drunken revelry – wanting to drink nectar from his lips? Then he would oblige them. Love was a funny thing like that. He loved his friends, he loved the people who followed him. He loved to create.

For those aspects of love, he could let a follower use his body like a mirror and reflect their desires back upon them. It was nothing for him to let this happen. But the true nature of his desire was caught in a heart that had left him long before he had been born from Zeus’s ‘ _thigh_ ’.

“And her?”

“There’s no pretending, or acting. She knows what the human part of me wants.”

 _The human part of him_ – it seemed such a contradiction for an immortal god. But then, he was full of contradictions, such was his nature.

“Annnd the human part of you wants to get torn to shreds by someone who’s as equally void of the ability to experience attraction as you are?”

Dionysus only looked guiltily off to the side, with a shrug as if to say a shameful 'maybe'.

“You really need to be kinder to yourself.”

“It just pisses me off so much! Makes me just wanna-” Eros screamed at a deafening pitch, his face flushed from the wine. Drawing his bow, and an arrow from his quiver – he shot a single arrow up into the air and it soared across the sea. Dionysus watched a flock of birds startled from the boughs of an olive tree as the speed at which the arrow traveled caused a deafening boom. Of course, the mortal it would strike would feel no impact but the one in their heart.

“That’s probably gonna fuck somebody over.”

“Who cares! They do it to themselves all the time anyway. Now they have someone to blame if they want.” He rolled his eyes, though Dionysus couldn’t help but notice there was a bit of embarrassment to the redness in his face – Eros was simply too drunk to care enough.

Now Eros was rounding upon him, his honey curls flouncing with his gait as he approached Dionysus giddy with excitement.

“ _Hey_. Crazy idea.” Eros paused as Dionysus raised an eye at him, being literal madness incarnate as he was. “Not crazy like you! You’re like – Hm. A pure sort of crazy!”

“This is more like a, ‘you’d be crazy to try to take me up on this offer again’, kind of crazy.”

“Okaaay.” He gestured for Eros to continue.

“Stars _just_ told me there’s a wife waiting out there for you.”

_Ugh, again?_

The wife thing was new though, usually he was just trying to find him a lover. _Everyone_ seemed to be on his case about matrimony lately. So many things his family expected of him here – to stop living among the mortals, to come live on their distant mountain, to take a wife and spend the rest of his endless life drinking with the most powerful beings of this land.

There was a part of it that he supposed he could see the appeal of. But there was something much more charming and _comforting_ about the revelries of mortal beings. Something more familiar about their moods and their easiness around each other. The genuine feeling of happiness to be around each other, rather than a tolerance of each other’s presence.

Sometimes he could almost forget that he wasn’t one of them.

“You sound like my lord father.” Dio’s tone implied this was far from a favorable comparison. “I’m truly surprised you’re actually giving me a choice this time.”

Eros tittered – because if the wine god’s skin could scar, there would be countless wounds from his supposed friend’s arrows. It was far from the first time his friend had tried to set him up with someone, and this right here was likely not to be the last.

“Ehhh, you and I both know that only works to a point with you. You’re basically a black hole when it comes to intoxicants.”

Case in point, Eros was absolutely smashed and Dionysus was barely buzzed.

“Mmm. Well, who is she?”

“A princess! Right here on Naxos!”

“Naxos doesn’t have a princess.”

“Not with that attitude it doesn’t. Anyway, she’s not from here. But she’ll be here two days from now – the approach from Thera.”

“That’s still on the _other side_ of the island.”

Dionysus was unsure about the prospect of putting up with a princess of all things – royalty always tended to have a hard time understanding the dynamic in the camp. Who you were, and what your life was outside of the camp? They were only but a story, and while your story was important, it was a place where the maker of cheese was far more beloved and respected than a maker of law.

“You haven’t been filling her head with nonsense romantic ideas about me, have you?”

Eros simply smiled at him enigmatically, which Dionysus took as yet another sign of another ill-fated match from the man.

“Let’s say I don’t pick her up two days from now. What happens?”

“Stranded alone on a beach? Not really much out there that can be done for her, short of divine intervention.” Eros winked.

“The emotional blackmail is new.” Not anything that he wouldn’t be able to deal with though.

“You don’t _have_ to marry her. ” Eros shrugged, and a wing gestured towards him in a conciliatory fashion. “Think about it though.”

“Then tell me more about her.” He was starting to get tired of his friend’s flighty responses, a bit of mystery was all well and good – but this was all a bit much.

Eros grinned cheekily at him, “You’re going to have to find out yourself, if I tell you everything now you’ll just get bored of her.”

“Why even offer, if you know how things will end up?” Flopping back against the grass, Dionysus looked up to the stars that started to peek out of the sky. Wondering if they would deign to tell him what they’d apparently so readily whispered to Eros. “If you’re trying to teach me a lesson, it’s not going to work. You yourself admitted that your little love trick doesn’t stick on me. Not for long, anyway.”

“Plenty of gods fall in love.”

“For a minute.”

He’d never feel guiltier than he did in the moments after Eros’s poison would wear away, leaving him bereft of as ever of his ability to desire. More often than not, with a mortal cradled in his arms – fed with a love that hadn’t truly been his to give.

Fortunately, most mortals seemed to expect a certain fickleness from lovesick gods, and expected little of him.

"Look at me though! And Psyche! If I can settle down, _anyone_ can."

“Yet you seem to spend all your time with me.”

It was a bit of a joke, considering that Psyche was the entire reason the two of them had become acquainted in the first place. The reason Aphrodite had decided to punish her son, and why Eros had spent so much time flitting around Dionysus inflicting arrow after arrow into the man, in a mad attempt to try and finish the job his mother had given him.

He was glad those days seemed _mostly_ over.

“Just tell me whether you’ll go. Won’t you?”

Well. That was a loaded question.

Was he going to walk all the way across the scrubby bush just to find what was likely just a spoiled brat? Someone who wouldn’t appreciate the rustic beauties of his camp, and would rankle at being ordered around by common crones? It did seem a petty waste of life for her to perish on a beach – so he resolved to go fetch her at the very least.

Was he going to go and pursue a wife, like Eros expected of him? If the goal was for Dionysus to find love – then that was impossible. His heart, and ultimately his desire, they lived on in the vines and the fruit they bore for a thirsty humanity, and were not something he could freely give.

A princess abandoned on an island, alone – he wouldn’t blame her for getting ideas about a god who would appear from nowhere to sweep her away. He might even be able to pretend like it was fun. For a while.

Marrying her-

No. _Nonono_.

Dionysus wouldn’t. Loveless marriages were common in the cities, even what was expected to a certain point – but it was the very antithesis of the concepts he embodied.

If she was truly set upon him – she could be an attendant, and lay with him as he blessed the earth. So long as she wouldn’t expect him to be anything more – to have the _capacity_ for that.

Maybe he would be lucky and rather than marrying a powerful husband, this princess had always dreamed of making pottery, or cheese, or herding goats. Or she could leave – it mattered not to him.

But it was a funny idea, at least.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to feel that way again – to feel more than just empty physical release. But his time for that was gone – lived in a life before this body had ever opened its eyes.

“We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wew. finally got this chapter out.
> 
> This scene with Theseus and Asterion is actually one of the first I wrote for this story, heheh! Ask me for a link to my discord if you wanna see more art I've made for this story. ;p


	3. The One Where Ariadne Decides To Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two deaths, one undeath, and a flight from Knossos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plasma
> 
> plas·ma  
> /ˈplazmə/
> 
> An ionized gas consisting of positive ions and free electrons in proportions resulting in more or less no overall electric charge, typically at low pressures, or at very high temperatures (as in stars).

_𐄐𐄋_

_princess?_

  
  
  
  


Ariadne's heart felt as if it was put through a sieve – parts of it washed away in bits and pieces. There was a certain bitter tang hovering at the back of her mouth, and she wondered how much more strained she would become before the night’s end.

She was _sure_ Pasiphae was her mother – she didn’t need to be told to know that.

But there were other things she needed to know, and things Ariadne knew needed to be asked.

Looking down at Minos, looking up between her mother, Tabitae and Catreus – she suddenly understood a simple fact they all had in common. Who of these three _wouldn't_ benefit from ridding their lives of the King? Mouth agape, she spoke the truth out into reality. 

“You’re all conspirators?” The words left her with the weak confidence that only someone involved in their own plans and misdeeds could muster. It made sense to her – because wasn't she too involved in a plot to _benefit_ from the death of her kin, one which she brought about?

There was a bite of sourness with eyes directed at Tabitae when she thought of this. She, who of all these people had _known_ her plans – had agreed to escort her when the time came. Perhaps she'd been involved all along.

The way she'd stoked Asterion's want for glory in battle ( _as if it wasn’t the only way for him to feel any sort of happiness about his awful purpose_ ) – the way she hadn't condemned Ariadne with her eyes when she admitted their plan ( _condemnation she had wanted desperately_ ). 

Logical reasoning pooled at her feet, that Tabitae did these things for the care she bore for them – but Ariadne didn't know to trust it anymore.

Was this the outcome she'd been steering them toward all this time?

“Something like that.” Catreus answered for them. “We both have something we need from each other.”

“Your mother’s handmaid is, for lack of a better term, _vastly_ unnatural.” He held up his arm with the bridle around it, and the golden stylized animals embellished upon the buckles caught Ariadne's eye. “To the point where _this_ is needed to keep her in check." 

She thought of how they resembled the creatures of ink on Tabitae’s coppery skin – thought about how stiff and uncomfortable Tabitae’s posture and face had been during this whole encounter.

Relief bloomed in her as she realised a possibility where, much like herself, Tabitae might have been caught unaware by all this scheming from the two unlikely allies.

So what if she was _unnatural_ , as Catreus had put it – Ariadne's mother was surely just as strange, and yet no one saw fit to control her like this.

“Now, I don’t pretend to know exactly why my father happened into such an object – or why my end of this bargain had to be in convincing my father to entrust it to me.” He looked to Pasiphae. “But, of course, I’m an understanding man. I can see why she’d want to be rid of it – I can imagine how such a thing might be the only thing keeping them from running all the way home.”

Pasiphae heartily disagreed, as her cold voice rang out.

“Ah. Much like the only thing between yourself and spear pointed at your throat is largely based on my good graces.” There was a gritting of her teeth, a pointedness of her brow that indicated effort being placed at _something –_ though Ariadne couldn’t quite place what.

There were things that her mother did that seemed within her understanding, of how certain plants were sacred. Of how there were myriad ways you could coax something special out of an inflorescence and create some desired effect out of a stem, or bloom.

But then there were impossible things that Pasiphae was capable of, things that could never be truly explained to Ariadne in a way that made sense. It was some innate power that Pasiphae held, unable to pass on to her children. Yet, for all her potential to wreak havoc upon reality, it still left her somehow powerless in this situation. 

Catreus explained to her about how Pasiphae was to disappear, and how barest yarn was to be whispered into the ears of gossipy Cretan sailors. 

Ariadne wondered then, had she ever met a sailor? But they _were_ gossipy – that was known by all, she was sure – and for their minds to spin up something salacious, something utterly tragic would be all too easy, even with the smallest of facts. 

It was explained how the story would soon have dozens of different versions, and everyone would take their dearest and most favourite interpretation so much to heart that reality would hardly be a curiosity for them.

So busy they would be, speaking of Minos and Pasiphae, of disappearances and of the labyrinth – Catreus could take the throne with little suspicion and put this era of shame behind the city.

“And _you_ Ariadne – are the payment for my cooperation.” Catreus shot another annoyed look at Pasiphae, “Or that _was_ the deal – until I found your mother trying to spirit you away. And here I thought I was doing you a _favour_ by offering to let you watch him burn.”

“ _Payment_?” Ariadne shouted, incredulous at what he proposed, her mind jumping to what Asterion has said only a few hours earlier. The look on her face plainly disgusted as Catreus put his hands up.

“Within this palace, you’ve been led to believe you were a princess – but no one outside our walls knows of a princess named Ariadne.” Catreus told her, though Ariadne knew there was a caveat to what he said. Theseus knew she existed, and Ariadne steeled herself again to try and find a way out of this strange nightmare. To finally decide her own fate, rather than to be moved around as if she were one person or another’s tile in a game of petteia.

“So what?”

“You're _barren_ , Ariadne."

There it was.

Out there, in the open. The very thing she had wanted to ignore so tightly earlier in the night as she thought of her future – in Athens. The flaw of her physiology that was the ultimate truth of why no marriage had ever been planned for her.

Her horrible awful inadequacy was laid bare before her. The deadness of her womb. The monthly bleedings that never arrived.

As if it was all that mattered about her.

"What do you expect? What better are you hoping for? Or would you rather hide behind your mother for the rest of your life? You could be queen at least! I owe you that much. It's more than any woman of your condition should expect."

He _owed_ her that much? As if he was offering her something anybody in their right mind would desire?

Ariadne wanted to retch at the thought, if he was Minos’s bastard – and she was Pasiphae’s – they weren’t blood, but the thought still curdled her stomach.

“It’s not like that!” Catreus said, seeing the disquieted expression on Ariadne’s face. “It’s nothing personal, Ariadne. We wouldn’t even need to lay together.” 

There was a strange sort of guilt on his face, as if he was perhaps starting to realise that as much as he dreamed, that was only the barest 'kindness' in this plan. “I think we’re both proof that nothing needs to be official regarding… _lineage_. It’s the symbolism of marrying you that matters more than anything.”

Was that supposed to make her feel better?

Ariadne had nothing to say, nothing that _could_ quite express the wrongness that she could bear the put to words.

“I swore to help kill your father, I swore not to harm you – but you will _not_ have her. I said you could _ask_ her – and see? She hates it.” Pasiphae stated, as if they were simple facts more than condemnations – and surely, her mother was right – but there was always something galling being spoken for in such a fashion. “Don’t you see the disgust in her face? How she’d rather stay with us?”

There was a loud thump, and the sounds of scuffing on stone as Tabitae dropped the King of Knossos onto the ground, unceremonious as a sack of grain. That, and a cry of muffled anguish was all that alerted them to Tabitae’s reaction. Appalled, with arms flown out to the sides in indignation. Though muffled, a sound of pain spilled from Minos's lips, and soon he was flat to the ground. Tabitae’s foot pinned him, planted firmly between his shoulder blades to keep him from escaping, even as she expressed her fury.

“Simmer down!” He wrapped the loose leathers of the bridle around his hand twice, tightly – and true enough, Tabitae stilled. “This thing isn’t working quite as well as you _said_ it would, witch.”

“It was _made_ to place rules upon her, not to control her every move.” Pasiphae’s tone of voice conveyed all that needed to be said about what she thought of his intelligence, to put such stress on the constraints imbued upon the object. “More than that – you were supposed to _destroy it_ when you took ownership of it.”

“Well, perhaps I had a bit of an inkling that you’d be difficult – so why don’t we continue this discussion _after_ we finish committing regicide?” Catreus sighed, clearly antsy and unhappy with how things were proceeding as he gestured towards Tabitae again with the bridle.

As Catreus stooped down to remove the gag, he paused for a second before saying to Tabitae. “Not that it matters much – but if he screams? You’ll press down hard enough he can barely breath.”

No answer from the woman, other than a subtle increase in pressure that indicated that it was likely already quite hard for the king to draw breath.

But still Minos tried. To scream, to call for his guards. Yet none came, and it made Ariadne wonder just how many people were involved in this scheme. _For no one at all to come._ Especially on this night of sacrifice, when they were sure to be most agitated.

“I treated you as if… you _were_ my heir – _why_?”

Ariadne wasn’t even _involved_ in the plot, and she almost wanted to laugh at that question. _Why_? As if the reasons why each of them should have come to hate him weren’t abundantly obvious? The man was at least delusional, if not as mad as everyone said he was.

“As it turns out, everything you did to me as a child to _prepare me_? It breeds resentment.” Catreus's voice rose, caught in his anger as he was, more for his own benefit than to think Minos would really listen. Centering himself – he put on an air of impassiveness and shrugged. “It was only natural, considering what you do to people.”

“I’ll abdicate! I’ll let you be king! She’s the one who deserves this, it’s like you said! She’s the one behind your mother’s death—

“You’re just going to _pretend_ like you didn’t know your seed had turned into scorpions?” Catreus intoned laconically, calmly, as if he were speaking of the weather.

There were rumours of things her mother had wrought upon men before she was married, with her sister Circe.

All things that could easily explain the death of Catreus’s mother, and only the Gods knew how many other women that her philandering ‘father’ had lain with.

Things that would leave a man with only bodies on his hands rather than bastards if he dared stray away from his hateful marriage bed, with the most outrageous of these rumours speaking of centipedes and scorpions taking hold in the women, rather than quickening with children.

Squirming toxic insects. The thought of it made her stomach lurch.

But despite all evidence of her mother’s artistry of unreality, Ariadne had been sure _that_ was just an old wives tale. But apparently not.

“I certainly warned him.” Pasiphae replied, as if she were talking about a change of guards, rather than the state of Minos’s seed.

Catreus stood up and stepped away, no longer feeling the will to hear anymore from Minos.

“Show me your fire, Scythian demon – I want him turned into ash. I want nothing left of his body, that people might suspect our treachery.”

There was no movement from Tabitae, though her fist shook with the effort it took to remain still. Pointedly, she looked to Pasiphae and her daughter, before sharply bringing her head to the side to look at Catreus fully.

There was a strange look weaving its way through her face, suffusing every joint with _threat_ though she was rooted to the spot. How had she never noticed this in her mother’s handmaid before?

“She’s not leaving.” Catreus was silent for a while before he laughed hollowly. “You can stay if you want to be with her so badly, but she’s _not_ leaving.”

Blood vessels burst in the eyes of the woman as she stepped off towards the almost-king for a moment with her hand outstretched, and Ariande imagined that it had to involve a gargantuan effort to be able to defy the charmed bridle. That one step held the weight of more fury and contempt than seemed possible to convey nonverbally – but silence screamed, did it not?

When she was moving again, it was in a flash as Tabitae set herself brutally upon Minos. Her hands were around his neck, with the crack of his head against the stone hardly a matter to her.

Tabitae’s mouth opened and an unearthly glow rose like bile from her throat. 

It was as blinding as the sun, and fell like molten slag. It dripped heavily from her lips like honey, only to tumble in the air as light as a leaf once it left her.

It caught and floated away on the force of the King’s anguished breaths, so light you could almost see through. But where it touched, it stuck as feathers to tree sap. The destruction it carved out of his body near instantaneous as flesh was vaporized under the blinding light.

A sight that would haunt Ariadne for many years to come. 

She had seen death before, the sight of brutalized bodies having become familiar to her even as a little girl – that was her life, minding the labyrinth. This was different though, this was happening right in front of her, and it was enacted with a strange power both great and terrible.

She was beginning to realise now, she could see exactly what Catreus had meant by unnatural – Tabitae wasn't a witch, she wasn't weaving an unreality like Pasiphae – whatever was happening was a _part_ of her.

She wondered if it was the smell that was the worst – the unnatural smell of roasting human flesh that turned her stomach? Or was it the sight of the charring? The screams, of course, were inescapable.

Ariadne squinted through bright starbursts of colour flashing under her eyelids, and screamed as she started to see Tabitae’s coppery skin blister and crack and the light that started to pour through as her body gave way.

_Burning from the inside out._

Catreus screamed commands, screamed for her to stop. His voice was hazy to Ariadne’s ears and her eyes started to water as she watched the destructive luminous smoke work out into her body, onto Minos’s body. It was all so fast.

There was an absence in her body, some lack of will as she was petrified by the sight she saw before her, filled with terror and confusion. Pasiphae’s cold hands covered her eyes, trying to block the awful vision from her.

Words were whispered to her between heaving sobs. Attempts to comfort Ariadne, holding her close. Words that said everything would be okay – that Tabitae was okay – that all they needed to do was hold on. Just keep holding on until-

Ariadne shook away her mother's hands, her vision swimming in flashing bright green and red under her eyelids, and the luminous smoke faded into an oppressive heat that filled the room. How could she trust these words? How could Pasiphae have seen what she did and _claim Tabitae was alright_. 

There was no recipe or spell or incantation that could return life from ash. There was no coming back from this.

Yet after all was said and done, the Prince and Queen argued intensely as Ariadne contemplated this emptiness, dimly aware of them. Each seeed to have one threat or another – some reasoning or retort for why they should be the one to foster her – neither seeming to care to ask Ariadne what she thought.

“You forget your promises.” Catreus cut in icily. “I would never hurt her, I _told_ you that.”

“You would never hurt her _again_ you mean.”

Catreus turned his head away, his dark curling hair swishing past, as his eyes a reflected deep-seated shame. There had always been a measure of distance between her and Catreus, ever since he’d grown to hate Asterion – blaming him for what had happened between them.

“Don’t— Her voice was a wheezy reproach, and Ariadne’s back burned as she knew what her mother referred to – “Don’t use that – none of us asked for that.”

The sound of this whip was still as clear in her mind that night as it was all those years ago.

Catreus hadn’t wanted to do it, she knew that – and that was enough for her not to hate him over what happened. A chilling idea ran up Ariadne’s spine, as she though that perhaps this was the reason why Catreus was so fixated on keeping her in Knossos – trying to convince himself he could truly rewrite all of Minos’s mistakes.

How long had the fire burned as they argued? All Ariadne knew is that still dawn had still not come, yet the more they argued the less she felt she truly knew her mother.

Who was this woman that let Catreus control the conversation? This woman who felt no shame punishing others for the ill actions of her husband? 

That in itself was what the lord of the oceans had done to her – and Pasiphae’s actions had only perpetuated that awful hated cycle. One where people close to Minos were punished, while the King lay only shamed for his actions.

They bore the brunt of the pain, while he only knew the sting of his _property_ being damaged.

Now Minos felt nothing, his last moments filled with terror.

But worse, whatever Pasiphae had done – there was a part of Ariadne that _understood_. It saw the twisting and resentment that had been curling up in her steely eyes – and wondered about how the sorts of things each little shame and injustice lived through since she’d been sent to this island would turn into justifications. There was a part of her that understood why her mother wished to keep her in the dark about things, and knew why she had lied.

Hadn’t she done the same thing, not telling her about her flight with Theseus? About her awful part in supplying him the instruments of death that would kill Asterion?

The words stuck to her throat. Ariadne wanted to tell her – needed to. But – just – notrightthen.

No. Now. _It had to be now_.

“I’m leaving with Theseus.” Ariadne finally stated. 

As soon as the words left her mouth – she wondered if she should care what they thought of that – of her? Tabitae, her mother, her sisters – even the distant Catreus, they had been all she’d known outside of Asterion and the labyrinth. The mark of what she’d done still lay heavily across her heart – but could _either_ of the people standing in front of her judge her for it? With what they’d done on this night? 

Surely not.

“You’re _kidding_.” Catreus spat out, wholly puzzled.

“You don’t have to leave with any of those men.” Pasiphae tried to intone comfortingly. “You can come with me.”

Catreus shot Pasiphae another annoyed glance.

“Tell he—

He was interrupted by a sudden sharp gasp from Pasiphae, rattling at the back of her throat as if she was experiencing something entirely intangible to the rest of the room. 

Falling to her knees, the queen exclaimed, “He’s _dead_.” 

Not a moment passed before, with a seemingly inordinate amount of concentration on her part, the nymph snapped her fingers, and Catreus suddenly stopped in his position – not just still but entirely frozen in place.

It was just the two of them then.

-

𐄐𐄌

_the hollow victor_

__

  
  
  
  


Detachment. It was his saviour in so many moments – so often he felt as if he could exist outside the situation.

It was his saviour as he stumbled out of the great roofed enclosure, the forge behind him cold as the fires inside it were as dead as its master. Theseus could barely see through his hair – fallen in front of his eyes as it was. He simply followed what little light he could make out from the spool which still lay on the ground.

The sword he kept in hand, unsure of what dangers might meet him as he escaped. But then, that was beside the point wasn’t it? 

Truthfully, he knew he’d be unable to rid himself of the implement, knowing it was made by Asterion's hands. Perhaps the evidence was washed away now, but it held a memory. One of the hands that had made it, and another of the blood that quenched it. 

Both of the same man.

His eyes were hot as he passed a hand over his face, displacing the sweat and grit that had gathered and sweeping his hair away from his vision. He felt the dried remnants of Asterion's seed flake away at his fingertips, and only felt a hollowness.

Viciously, he scrubbed at his face, at his hair – making sure there would be nothing left for anyone to think anything transpired between him and the bull other than death. Shame ran through him as he was desperate to hide something that had felt so beautiful-

Theseus wondered, what must be wrong with him? That he felt ashamed – not that it happened – but at how much he wished to hide it.

He wasn’t sure anymore – he only knew that he had to scrub it away from his body.

-

_It should have been a glorious moment, one for the ages. One that Theseus would bear his own scars from, as a glancing blow along his arm shredded the muscles there. The arm that should have held a shield, most optimally._

_But of course Theseus was ever clever and all too aware of what he was doing – and he couldn’t help himself when Asterion crouched low in front of him._

_He vaulted over the bull – ignoring the pain in his arm._

_He felt the welling of blood along his wound, and how it fell away from him in droplets with the force of his movement. He performed as fine of a bull jump as any on Crete, but far more brutal. Landing on the other side he was not so much graceful as he was stable in his position. It was the perfect opportunity, however, as a thrust into Asterion's gut and up – right – in – through his thoracic cavity finally ended things._

_Breath rapidly leaving his body, it brought the great hulking mass of a man down._

_Sitting there, watching the life leave Asterion’s eyes was strange for the prince. He’d never sat beside an enemy as they died – but then, he’d never fought someone so deserving of it that he wasn’t able to sway to his side._

_But of all the things he had expected the bull to do as he died – he hadn't expected him to beg._

_If it had been for his life, Theseus might have lost all respect for him there – despite the feelings that still burned underneath his skin._

_But no. With moments left to live as the blood and breath left his body, his pleas had been for his sister. For Ariadne. To make sure he honoured their marriage, to cherish her. It was only in a flash of desperation that he’d mentioned the coin – the one he’d need to pay for his trip along the great deathly river._

_Once Asterion’s star-like oxen eyes closed, and his lips had rattled and aspirated the last of his dying breaths – Theseus stood and got to work. There was no time to waste – no time to let himself feel the complicated mess of emotions that threatened what needed to be his moment of crowning glory._

_Looking at the coin, Theseus swore as he realised this wasn’t the typical Knossan obol – but yet another item forged by Asterion himself. There was no escape from him, even now._

_On one side the coin, a conch, and on the other a bull._

-

Detachment. Separation. Control.

Theseus repeated those words in his mind over and over. It was a mantra to the fact that for now, possibly for forever, he would have to make the effort to forget all that had happened in there. Who could he speak to that would understand that wonderful fucked up moment? 

But as he stalked the labyrinth, wrapping up the glittering yarn as he went, he started to realize a curious thing. It was easy to set his mind upon it, happy to distract himself from the gnawing discontent with this minor curiosity.

Perhaps his eyes had failed him – his mind until now had been elsewhere, but Ariadne's spool seemed to occupy the same amount of space and heft in his hand as it did when he had started, despite the bounds and bounds of yarn he had strewn about the place. It was something he’d have to explore later.

Theseus would be glad to leave this strange place behind and be among his countrymen again – to be around the men on his ship who waited for his return. 

Yet he had to pause, and it was then that he ran into another curiosity. The world seemed content to provide the prince with more distractions from the reality of everything he had done.

His fellow Athenians – all crowded around and whispering in excited hushed tones – they barely noticed his approach.

A few of them were missing, perhaps run off? But more shocking was that the ones who were left huddled around three unfamiliar faces, ragged and dirty youths – dressed just the same as them all in white chitons. Sacrificial clothing.

One of them was being held by a girl who had traveled here with them – and Theseus realised the resemblance between them, despite the encrustment on the unfamiliar face.

Quickly, he looked at another of the faces _closely_ and recognized the features of Sophonikes, a powerful Athenian nobleman. One who had lost a son to Minos, and who had supported Theseus in his quest to end this awful tradition.

Or at very least he had been happy to see his King finally have to put a son on the line.

“Where are the others?”

They turned to him at the sound of his voice – still having not noticed him, so enwrapped in the wonderful miracle of these living sons and daughters of Athens who were long thought dead.

Joyous cries rang out, and Theseus realized that he too was someone they’d thought dead – now returned.

In his hand, he held a tuft of the thick forelock that was Asterion’s. He had told himself it was for proof. Proof, since a part of him always felt sure that these lofty Athenian nobles would hold reservations about him – that they would doubt him despite the wounds of battle on his body.

That he might have it as a keepsake for himself, to be a memory – oh surely it hadn’t crossed his mind.

But it seemed, with miracles already in the air that night – they needed little reason to doubt him. For _of course_ his triumph had brought them back.

But had he? This question would eat at Theseus, if no one else.

After all, none returned from the land of the dead but the living who dared to penetrate its depth, those who refused to perish on their katabasis.

“This is my cousin, Aindra!” Said the more familiar of the two girls clutched together.

Another spoke of their older brother – who seemed apparently to have not aged a day.

Apparently those that had gone missing were supposed brave souls, going into labyrinth to search for more of the missing with hope in their hearts.

Idiots, all of them in Theseus's opinion – for they had no yarn to guide them away from madness.

All to chase cats-

For it was the cats that infested this damned labyrinth that bore these missing souls, impossible as it seemed. He was regaled about how three in particular had taken to them, immediately sniffing them out.

He felt like he was losing his mind, hearing how their forms had shifted – about how they’d heard muscle and sinewing snapping and stretching until these children who had forgotten to be people appeared.

It had only been the girl’s cousin Aindra who spoke, only able to whisper her name over and over.

Magic. It had to be.

But _why_ these three had been living as the labyrinth’s feline inhabitants instead of simply dead – that was the question.

If only they were in any position to be answering questions – and if only Theseus had the time to ask them.

-

When they finally left, their size of the cohort had increased by eight. _Eight lost children of Athens_ , three sons and five daughters. The ones who still had their wits about them ooh’d in awe of Theseus and his heroism as he returned with them all, including the poor lost men who went looking before him.

He wondered, however.

Was it heroic, or simply the only logical course of action? 

After all, there was no finding a way through that seething madness without the yarn that only he held. Theseus had a duty to bring _all_ of his countrymen back.

Prestigious as bringing these lost souls would be – to lose even one of his cohort that had set out with him?

It would be unacceptable.

Naturally, once he found each shivering maddened soul in the labyrinth – they followed him and his shining thread with not a whit of doubt in their eyes.

It was a taste of what was to come, a taste of the respect that would be due to him soon, when he returned back home.

"Wait here." He whispered to those behind him as he brandished the sword – they were about to leave the great maze.

But as he leapt out around the corner, there was nothing as he faced the mouth of the labyrinth.

Slowly – he padded his way out, wary of any trick that might be sprung upon him.

But he saw nothing except for more strange leavings of seeming unrealities all across the palace. He expected to face guards – to have to prove his victory.

Yet the guards who had sat at the entrance slept soundly – unnaturally so.

More mysteries of magic – and though he wasn’t stupid enough to think his journey unaided by others, this was unfamiliar.

He paid his dues where he had to when it came to his divine patroness, but this wasn’t her work. She was subtle. His Lady was careful in her machinations – and very rarely had he seen direct evidence of her intervention.

This was flagrant – blatant.

It made it all too easy, as they walked the whole path down from the hill, down the streets – and not a light from a window nor waking citizen was seen.

Each stationing of Minos's men that stood between them and his ship were trapped in the same fitful sleep as the ones he'd seen guarding the labyrinth – and he marvelled at the uncanniness of it all.

Theseus knew they were nearing the destination, and from a distance he could pick the black sails of his ship. They stood apart in contrast from the typical white of every other ship in the harbour – and he tried to push down the sense of indignation deep within him. 

He knew it had been bold, even brash – but he had hoped his second, Phyrrus, of all people would have followed his order. The order to change his ship’s sails from black to white before he got back, to announce his victory, even as the Knossan guards took him away and marched him up their palace’s hill.

It had been a reference to a request from his father – one that Phyrrus would know the significance of – but more than that it was a statement that every Athenian would know the meaning of.

Every seven years, the ships left for Crete with black sails and returned with them the same – so the grieving kin of the sacrificial youths would need no one to tell them by mouth of their children's fate. If Theseus was to succeed – it would be heralded by white sails. The people of Athens would know even before he set foot back on Attican soil of his triumph – and his father would know whether or not to despair over the loss of his only son.

Was it doubt that kept Phyrrus from changing the sails, or simple pragmatism? Theseus wouldn't fault the man for his actions, but it still stung him – and there would be no time for it to be done now.

It would have to wait until they reached the shores of Thera. Whatever was happening, he didn’t want to be around once they woke up.

For now, they would simply wait for Ariadne to arrive.

He wondered if he would have to return the palace to fetch her – perhaps with both a throng of men and marines at his side?

So full was his warship, his _trireme_ was brimming with almost two hundred men – something could be done.

He didn’t trust that the soldiers of Knossos would remain asleep were he to come and take his wife from Minos’s clutches. It was too perfect a situation – and he wasn’t brimming with any _false_ confidence that the King could take advantage of.

But then, as they finally stepped foot on the docks, he noticed a feminine form. One that stood patiently as she spoke to a rather nonplussed looking Phyrrus.

He signalled those following him to stand back as he strode forward – ready to command his second to stand aside so that he could collect his prize.

Yet, the closer he got, the more he realised that whoever this woman was, she couldn’t be Ariadne. She was too tall, too slender – and up close the colour of her hair showed through the darkness.

Looking at her face, for a moment he almost thought it was the Queen, as the witch’s appearance and influence would have explained _much_.

Theseus slid a backwards glance to the strange new additions who huddled together – still away from their wits and unsure of how or _where_ they were. Men and women turned into cats and back again once the bull was slain – there were stories of an island filled with men turned into animals, reigned over by Pasiphae’s sister no less.

Surely it wasn’t outside of her capabilities. But neither was the woman standing there Pasiphae, much as she resembled her.

This woman’s features were unambiguous when it came to her lineage – unlike her sister.

Phaedra – the youngest, and supposedly the most beautiful of all the Cretan princesses. Sun burnished bronze hair, fair milky skin that seemed paradoxically sun kissed, and a soft heart-shaped fac. She was simply radiant. Only her grey eyes were the same as Ariadne’s. She was the kind of beauty that one expected from a perfect demure princess, a soft shiny treasure. 

The most beautiful though? Theseus wondered about that, though it wasn’t Ariadne that his mind leapt to the thought of, and neither was it any of the other princesses of Knossos.

He clenched the mass of Asterion’s forelock in his hands tightly, and admonished himself internally for these aberrant thoughts.

Shaking his head, Theseus finally addressed her. “Phaedra of Crete, I presume?”

There was a slight effect of shock from her, as she played a thread of dramaticism over her face. “Oh, I’m so flattered you’ve heard of me!”

This family was full of surprises, wasn’t it? All so eager to meet him despite their awful tradition – despite that he’d murdered _her_ brother too. Or did she not care, like her sister had? Did she even _know_ her sister was supposed to meet him here tonight? Did she think to offer him a deal of her own?

“She says there’s guards sleepin’ all over the place were her mother’s doin’, talkin’ all sorts about her father bein’ dead and all such. Sayin’ she wants to speak to ya.” Phyrrus spoke, his gravelly voice thick with annoyance. “Told ‘er that a few guards being shit at their jobs don’t mean nothin’.”

Ah – so the sleeping guards _were_ a touch of help from the Queen – and Minos was dead? Theseus prided himself on his instincts, and it seemed they were right yet again – if only slightly off the mark. 

His bride-to-be involved in a patriarchal murder plot?

He thought not – for Asterion had only mentioned Ariadne, and Ariadne in turn had made no mention of her mother’s magic.

It was the _other_ daughter, this Phaedra who stood in front him.

“Phyrrus, you should watch your speech. You’re speaking to a _princess_.” Theseus looked down at her, though not much as she was almost of height with him, he saw a princess who looked quite pleased with herself and the prince who had come to her defense.

“Oh, thank you Prince Theseus.” A haughty glance was shot from her to Phyrrus, and Theseus was sure not to miss it. Her tone was sickly saccharine, the kind that belied threat despite her words. “But I can only respect the man for his loyalty, as he is performing his job _quite_ admirably, despite his vocabulary.”

“Yes, and what is your job, I wonder – that you wished to speak with me?” Theseus almost wanted to laugh for what he was about to say, for surely there was only _one_ thing she could offer him, the same as Ariadne. “Or perhaps I can make a guess – you mean to accompany my bride to Athens? You’re such a dutiful _sister._ ”

She was simply too late.

It was oh-so interesting, the way her face twisted into one of not only bewilderment, but of _concern_. 

“How sweet of you – that my future wife shall not want for her home with you there to remind her of it.” He idly toyed with the glowing thread in his hands, and watched Phaedra’s eyes stick upon it – watched her expression change to one suddenly wary – protective even.

“Of course.” Phaedra said, now pleasantly neutral. Theseus had to admire that through all of this, the smile on Phaedra’s face was unwavering and determined as her facade continued on, even as these revelations threatened to break it.  
  
“She’s far too precious to leave alone in such a place.”

-

𐄐𐄍

_the foolish daughter_

  
  
  
  


A look shared between mother and daughter, all the things left unspoken between them.

“I’ve had a bit of my load lightened, but this still isn’t very easy.” Pasiphae gasped, her breaths shortened. “So ask. Ask what you will of me.”

“Please. _Please_. Tell me something – anything.” There was more than just desperation in Ariadne’s voice then, as she only wished for her mother to set things straight. To stop this strangeness and be her mother again instead of this strange hateful person that Catreus seemed to bring out of her.

“Tabitae, she—

“Stop telling me she’ll come back! I want to know why you didn’t do this earlier!” Ariadne's hands were tight as she gestured to the frozen Catreus. Were they not all mortals here, in front of the scion of a Titan? Yet she did nothing as he had thrown barbs and shamed her so casually – when Tabitae had burnt herself to ash – where was this? “Why didn’t you _stop_ what happened to Tabitae?”

“I have my limits, Ariadne.”

She noticed the sweat on her mother’s brow, the way her posture had faltered. 

"We all have our limits. Already, now, I’m doing impossible things. It’s not a small feat to make all in a city fall into slumber – but for a handful. But it was necessary – so that we might conduct our killings, and that your _Theseus_ might escape unhindered.”

“Why?”

“That was my end of the deal with Catreus – _not_ giving you away like a piece of meat to be married.” Pasiphae admitted, as she paced away from Ariadne, wrapping her arms around herself. Looking as much to where her handmaid once lay now as she did to her daughter. “You’re supposed to be kept away from that. Away from those awful things.”

The part of her that wanted to come clean about all that had happened reared its ugly head then, not wanting to let this seed of mistrust grow between herself and her mother – no matter how much distance would be between them if she were successful in reaching Theseus.

But even that seemed almost impossible now – where would she go after that, once she left the palace? Ariadne had no clue how to reach the port.

She had only the vaguest idea of the path that would take her down the hill to the city of Knossos, where the rest of the city slept. But without Tabitae, she was sure to be lost and consumed by the darkness along the path – even illuminated by the moon as it was, 

“Ariaki… please try not to hate me.” Pasiphae sighed, and her ever present and elegantly straight posture faltered yet again as she held a hand over Ariadne’s, gently pressing it into her shoulder.

“Asterion death tonight was unavoidable – the Fates showed me that thread and others about this night to me, many years ago. Knossos will change, it _must_. How did you know Theseus was meant to live?"

Her throat tightened, as she realised that for all her mother had seen of that thread of fate – there were things still kept from her. Things that Ariadne would have to tell Pasiphae herself. But then – how much could she tell? How much could she share without the shame of it all being too much?

' _Can we not pretend as if we are husband and wife already? We have so little time_.'

Theseus's words rushed back to her, as Ariadne felt a hot brand of self-hate running through her. Even if Theseus had seemed so smugly certain of himself, despite his words, _she_ hadn't been.

But apparently it had been _inevitable_ – gone was the reality that had flashed so briefly in her mind. Gone were the consequences for refusal, as only the feelings he’d given her stuck and stung so creepingly sweet on her skin.

Wasn’t it so much worse for her to lay with him because she wanted what he offered?

So strange, to think that she'd rather trade her innocence away to give comfort to a man who might die that night, rather than enjoying the body of a man she was to be married to.

Mistaking her daughter's silence for disbelief at the idea of her brother's demise, convinced of her daughter's innocence – Pasiphae took hold of Ariadne’s hands and clasped them in front of them both of them as she spoke. “I was hoping to hide you away – so you wouldn’t have to see all the horrible things this night has in store for yourself.”

She said it so sadly, that Ariadne barely caught on to the fact that it was no longer about the both of them anymore – it was about _her_.

She had to talk. She had to tell her mother – 

“I gave him a sword.” Ariadne confessed – though words were spoken with little context. But they were all that Ariadne was able to say as she raced to collect her thoughts – tried to arrange them into something more coherent that something her mother would understand.

“Who, Ariaki? Who did you give a sword – Asterion?” Pasiphae looked puzzled at the admission, yet strangely altogether unbothered by it at the same time. As if she thought that whoever Ariadne might be arming – that it would be of little consequence.

The name dropped from her lips like a heavy stone, as she laid herself her misdeeds were laid bare and whispered. “Theseus.”

“ _No_.”

“I gave him my yarn.”

The yarn that Pasiphae had made from her, spun light itself.

“I’ve seen the threads of fate – and perhaps some were unexpected… but… to think it would be you – I…” Pasiphae was aghast. “I’m unsure what to say – our plan… the _fates_ plan was for Phaedra to leave with Theseus. Deucalion should have already taken her to the port by now—

"And what of me, mother? Did you check to see where I would end up?" She hated the tone of her voice, the ascorbic nature of her mind in this moment – but she couldn’t help it. _Phaedra._ Always Phaedra who these things were meant for, all while Ariadne was to spend her life being her mother's pet.

But then, there was a part of her that sighed in relief to know that at least if she was somehow able to reach Theseus – there would be a familiar face waiting for her. One who likely had as little of an idea of this plot as her, or at least she hoped.

Phaedra was young – only a few years younger than her – and she was innocent of all the awful things that went on her. At least as much any member of her family could be. There was always a sense of separation between the two of them, as Phaedra spent the days weaving. When she wasn’t wearing her fingers away, fastidiously making the fabric that would prove her worth, she was learning the delicate art of socialising with tutors during the hours that Ariadne worked in the labyrinth.

As much as something inside her yearned to see the world outside of this sprawling palace, outside the dusty scrub on the hillside – she would be so happy to have Phaedra with her if she could manage it. Distant though they were, she would be a piece of home.

"I never imagined anything like this – least of all from you, Ariadne." Pasiphae's voice was granular and sharp as she spoke, and the words were slow as the truth of Ariadne’s actions seemed to begin to penetrate. The next words to leave her lips were less filled with brine, but the hurt her mother felt still shone through. "I never thought I would need to check. You… want to leave me? After all that has happened?"

“H-he asked to marry me...” Ariadne stammered, feeling small and childish suddenly before these grand plans, all made without her knowledge and inspired by the Fates themselves. But then – one wasn’t _supposed_ to know the plans of fate, were they? Ariadne was still held on to a small hope that perhaps nothing was truly set in the great cosmic tapestry. “Asterion and I… we planned it together.”

She didn’t mention how the plan was barely hers, only that she’d carried it out. Did it matter now, when all had been said and done?

Pasiphae simply shook her head at Ariadne, pitying her wet-eyed child. She imagined her mother thinking of how foolish her children had been, to come up with such a plan.

"That's not what the Fates revealed to me—

“He’s _going_ to marry me!” Ariadne stated more finitely, ignoring the way her eyes stung and trying to find confidence in the one thing that felt sure in this awful confusing night. “I’ve made a deal with him. He promised himself to me."

Pasiphae stared at her then as if she was mad. Catreus, she could understand – but _her mother_. It hurt.

“He swore on Lady Athena’s name!”

“Men _lie_ , Ariadne.” Pasiphae told her, her tone starting to colour with the scarlet flush that seemed to rise on her cheeks, as if she hadn’t shown herself just as capable of lies that night. "You haven't told him yet, have you? That you don’t bleed?"

There it was again, her ugly truth.

Of course she hadn't – there just – it simply hadn't been enough time!

Her heart was thumping worriedly in her chest now, as she was filled with an anxiety of what would happen once Theseus _did_ find out. He had spoken of love – he'd been the one to ask for her hand – would he be so happy with her when he realised her womb wouldn’t quicken with his seed?

No. _No._ She had to believe in him – she couldn't lose faith in the Athenian now. Her leaving with him, it seemed the only thing that made sense anymore.

Stumbling to the window, Ariadne looked to the labyrinth and watched nervously, hoping the prince would appear right then and there. But alas.

“Oh, certainly men lie. They do it every day."

It was a new voice, one that Ariadne didn't recognise. Deep, affected by only the slightness of an accent as it radiated sharpness, danger, and power.

Standing in front of the window as she was – suddenly she was jumping out of the way as a bird flew in past her. 

Then suddenly another – and another.

A swarming flock of cruel looking black birds that looked like none Ariadne had ever seen before. Whose feathers had edges that seemed to shine sharp, with piercing hooked beaks, and large murderous talons – all circling around them in a flurry of beating wings.

Then, all at once they were swarming into the ground, and not a shriek or cry escaped them – and Ariadne thought she imagined them for just a moment as a volley of piercing arrows when they hit the ground.

But there was neither a skittering of feathers nor the shriek of iron against stone – instead there stood a man overtop the smouldering ashy remains, pushing them aside with the edge of a sandal.

" _However_ , my sister’s quite a stick in the mud. If the demi-godling swore on her name, she’ll likely hold him to it." He said it so casually, as if this strange man hadn’t entered the room by such baffling impossible means. As of his very presence didn’t seem to inspire a strange prickling under her skin, one of rage and indignation.

There were few beings that could control the forms of their bodies with such ease and fluidity – who could inspire a feeling like this simply by sharing the same space with someone.

Dressed in the laminated-linen and greaves of a common soldier, it was almost easy to think he was a palace guard. But Ariadne could see the small details, the decoration of birds intricately stitched – unfamiliar symbols. Even from his eyes, none could see him and think him human – as they shone with a strange scarlet divinity. Burning brands that shone like a wild animal’s from the darkness.

On top of it all, he smelled of a foul burning citrus, which frankly was a welcome reprieve from the scent of burning human flesh.

Taking off his helmet to introduce himself, it was clear, one could not see him and think of him Cretan – with his shock of curling reddish black hair that lay naturally piled atop his head. The top of his face was darkened with a wide stripe of soot.

“Well! Isn’t it a _fine_ evening?” His smile was wide as he looked down at the fine ashy substances of what has once been people. “Too bad you’ve taken care of the guards already, nymph – it seems my skills weren’t quite needed. So disappointing!”

A being who could change form at will, who dressed as a soldier, and who claimed Lady Athena as his sister? Who radiated such powerful surging energies of rage that she could feel it tingling on the very ends of her nerves?

There were few in her thoughts that she could conjure up to fit the identity of this ‘ _man_ ’, but she would have bet her life upon only one.

The war god. In front of her face – not some far off part of a story, or a simple far off conceptual ideal – but flesh and ichor in front of her. For some reason, though she had caught a glimpse of an Olympian long ago as a child – she didn’t truly believe she was meant to be seeing what was in front of her eyes.

She _knew_ Pasiphae had magic, that she was a _nymph_ – that her grandfather himself was the sun, whatever that had meant. But still, it felt so strangely separate from what was before her eyes right then. Even the sea god who had so effortlessly punctured any seeming normalcy that might’ve existed here seemed more like a far-off tormentor than a reality. Weren’t beings like this only supposed to talk through some strange artifice? Guide events from some far off place using an invisible hand?

Were they all to face some swift punishment expedited for what had happened to the King of Crete – some sacred oath sworn that was now being acted upon?

King no more, she amended. He was gone now. Gone, gone, gone – along with Tabitae. Now they would be gone too – washed away in the war god's wrath.

What dealings did he have with the King, that he was so invested in his death?

Much as her mind was still processing out the last bits of disbelief from her eyes – both habit and long sown fear in her heart of what the consequences of displeasing divinity would wreak, she fell to her knees and pressed her forehead to the stone. 

Ariadne gripped the stone floor tightly, thinking of all she had seen that night – the joints of her fingers creaked. Wondering what fresh awful surprise would be waiting for her next, challenging the world to continue to excel in its ability to serve a new, fresher humiliating expectation of her.

“Oh! Up on your feet.” He sounded strangely annoyed with her show of respect, as baffling as that seemed. Weren’t Gods creatures of vanity? Unsure of how fickle he was, Ariadne raised her forehead from the ground but stayed on her knees. “I don’t especially have the time for all the ceremony at the moment. Would’ve properly introduced myself if that was that case.”

Pasiphae still stood bravely on her feet, and addressed the war god with all the confidence of a daughter of the Sun, and perhaps a mite more.

“Oh, you were doing such a good job being subtle, really. As if your words and your flock of _areioi_ certainly weren’t already clear enough.” Her words were biting – but her posture seemed to have relaxed a little – her face even looked a little relieved. “The night continues to bring untold surprises.”

So she hadn’t just imagined that? Closing her eyes, Ariadne went through her mind to think of some story she had heard – of a shrine in a far off sea, guarded by amazons and birds that dropped feathers like arrows.

"You know, there's _very few_ entities that I'm willing to zip my ass over from whatever corner of this world I'm working in to attend to – you're lucky she's one of them."

"She still trusts you to do her favours then?"

Ares huffed and growled at the nymph, and Ariadne thought she almost saw double again. Ares was grabbing at his side – seemingly reaching into empty air. 

Yet at the same time her mind perceived the same man in different garb, he wore strange clothing over his legs that seemed to trap them separately in fabric, and a tunic of scaled iron overtop. In this strange vision, the empty hands were filled as he took a long draw from a skin that seemed to contain neither water nor wine.

But whatever he drank, the blazing aura of ferocious energy he seemed to emanate now fell to a lowly din – no longer bursting from his body to affect those around him.

“So strange to see the lady like this!” Squatting over the piles of ash, he picked up the coal with a leather gloved hand, squeezing it tightly. His prior mood forgotten – now his laughter was wild, and dissonantly high pitched as he placed it in a tiny metal container. “Ahhh, but we’ll get her back to normal in no time—

“And the rest of us?”

Another peel of wild laughter from the man, birdlike in it’s pitch. “Oh, you’re coming too, of course – wouldn’t dream of pissing off the lady like that.”

“I have no intention of bringing the boy with me. But – my daughter – you have to bring her with us too— Pasiphae hesitated, the tip of something on her tongue – looking away as Ariadne looked up at her. “Or – at least somewhere away from here.”

“Since when was I here to follow _your_ orders?” He guffawed, yet the roll of his shoulders was languid as he studied the two of them – as if he looked at Ariadne truly for the first time. 

“ _Oh_.”

“There’s a lot of ‘how’s’ coming to my mind right now, nymph.” An eyebrow arched, stretching the sooty skin of his forehead. “And you said she’s _your_ daughter?”

“She has my eyes, doesn’t she?”

Ariadne was unsure of how to follow their conversation, as she barely moved an inch – entirely uninterested in attracting more attention than she already had. Afraid she might say or do some wrong thing – and spend the rest of her life paying for it.

The smile on Ares’ face was thin as he held the glinting metal in his hands to his ear. “Why don’t we ask _her_ what she wants to do with the girl?”

He moved his thumb on the strange container in a manic fashion, and a small thin flame sparked from the mouth – revealing it as the most questionable looking lamp Ariadne had ever laid eyes on. From it, a litany of angry whispers escaped in a language that Ariadne couldn’t understand.

But the timbre and tone so warm and husky – it seemed so strangely familiar to her, despite being the voice of a stranger.

“Right.” He flicked the lamp closed again, snuffing out the light – held out a hand to pluck the princess to her feet with a flick of a wrist. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Wait— Pasiphae reached out to the lamp, desperately – and the very flames themselves seemed to jump away from her, despite no breeze in the air.

“ _Sorry_.” Ares pulled Ariadne and the flame away from the nymph, as Pasiphae looked on desolately. “She doesn’t wish to speak to you right now. She’s _quite_ miffed.”

Ariande blinked and she heard a scratching of metal as the lid lifted again next to her ears – and her eyes were filled with light and her ears with a presence that undeniably, impossibly and almost bafflingly-

 _Tabitae_.

Ariadne gasped, a rush flowing through her veins, emotionally whiplashed as she had just barely accepted her death.

Whispers licked her consciousness like flames, little apologies that sounded unfamiliar on the tip of the Scythian’s tongue. Apologies for how things had turned out – for how things _would_ turn out – interspersed with tiny encouragements not to be afraid.

All short, clipped. So much to the point – as Ariadne wondered if she had always been short of words, or it this was the result of having it locked by that damned bridle for so many years.

“ _The prince._ ” These were pointed words, and Ariadne knew _exactly_ which prince she referred to. Blonde and Athenian. ” _Is it what you still want?_ ”

Options. She had options? 

Ariadne looked behind her, back at Pasiphae who looked scared for the first time that night and back at Catreus, still frozen. His was an option she could never – _would_ never take – an empty existence where she would pretend that a Knossos without Asterion was a place that could make her happy – it was a nightmarish life. There wouldn’t be a day that could go by that she wouldn’t be reminded in some way of him – of what she’d aided in.

She’d rather go with Theseus – strange as it might have seemed to find comfort in his arms of all people.

But then, he hadn’t created the situation – he was almost entirely separate from it – and for all that she bemoaned the result, it wasn’t as if she could think him unjust for wanting to slay her brother. How many Athenians had perished in the labyrinth? How many had she had to help Tabitae dispose of and clean up after?

To stay with Pasiphae, however – Ariadne almost felt tempted despite everything between them now. 

There would always be a part of her that would want to follow wherever Pasiphae was going – where _Tabitae_ was going – that small bit of child still in her heart. That part of her wanted to stay with them – to spend her life learning about the strange chapter of their lives that she had been so entirely ignorant of.

How many stories had been kept from her that she could glean? How had Tabitae come to Crete in the first place?

But beside that temptation – there was the lurking truth within her that a life with Pasiphae would be a half life with little choice. As much as she could learn – as comfortable as that life might be, she would never escape it.

Theseus had woven a strange sensation of not-quite-love into her flesh, and the feeling of his arms around her gave her a level of comfort and intimacy she had never realised she wanted. Until then, Ariadne hadn’t truly realised how starved she was for a touch like that – so different from the platonic embraces she had known.

Not better or greater – but her starvation had made her hungry for those specific touches.

More than that – he was the future Asterion so carefully and meticulously wanted to give to her, one that he had died for.

It still didn’t quite seem real to think there was no chance to see him again. But there was no going back from that death, because for all his monstrous looks Asterion’s flesh was still that of a man. Whatever Tabitae was? Death didn't apply to her in the same way, as Ariadne wasn’t sure that she had ever been quite human – only wearing the skin of one.

She could find out, if she left with Pasiphae, Ariadne could know all of Tabitae’s secrets-

But Asterion’s death couldn’t be in vain. 

“Well?” Ares was scrubbing a hand at the curling stubble that covered his jaw as he waited. “What’ll it be?”

Wordlessly, Ariadne nodded as she knew her answer – for a moment longer letting Tabitae’s voice lull her into its warmth, even if the voice itself was half a stranger to her. She wondered if she’d ever hear it again.

“Take me to Theseus. To the docks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Not my spiciest chapter, mostly just a lot of angst and plot chapter, and I can’t really say that future chapters will be LACKING in that buuuut, well, things are about to take a turn next chapter. I’m going to be going back and providing some illustrations to scenes, and editing them in as I update. I’ll make sure to post a note at the top of a new chapter if I’ve finished any new illustrations by that time.
> 
> What scenes would you guys like to see drawn? Tell me in the comments! :D 
> 
> This sorta brings to close the first ‘arc’ of this story more or less- so I’d really love to hear any feedback or thoughts on it! I actually had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and really ended up changing certain bits of it quite a bit just because it wasn't flowing correctly for me. Please tell me what you think, any comments at all on this story would be appreciated.


	4. The One Where Dionysus Makes An Oopsie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dionysus goes to investigate his future wife, while Ariadne and Phaedra have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trireme
> 
> tri·reme  
> /ˈtrīˌrēm/
> 
> noun  
> trireme; plural: triremes  
> an ancient Greek war galley with three banks of oars, headed by a trierarchos.

_𐄐𐄎_

_the vegetative bud_

__

  
  
  
  


Wild singing was in the air, as a loud chatter settled over the clearing – far away from the heart of his camp.

The soil was dead in Naxos, and this spot the most barren of all and most in need of a fertile blessing from the gods – but only after much comparing handfuls of earth, and discussing the tiny wriggling inhabitants of the soil and how such and such wildflowers grew here and there and what that meant for the soil composition.

Dionysus observed the Pans arguing amongst each other in the distance, with the small satyr-like god tooting a short comedic refrain buzzing off his _monaulos_ as the giant goat-faced man stalked off in a huff to tend his flock.

Aegipan had never been the type to take part in _this_ kind of celebration, and that suited him just fine – it was tireless work keeping the tigers from eating their goats and thrice so on the night of a revelry.

The tigers and panthers being nice to people _unfortunately_ didn’t translate well to keeping their livestock from being poached by his hungry kittens, so he and everyone else who ate in the camp appreciated the good work of the two Pans and their shepards, disparate though they sometimes were.

There was laughter, the sound of instruments, and the arguing of old women over which patch of soil was _most_ barren. But in all of this, even the arguments, there was a sort of joyful and free way with which the inhabitants carried out their actions.

Behind him, the air was full of pipes and horns, and large yowling cats prowled around as they processed behind him. All around him were people who lived freely under the night sky. Men run out of their homes and women who refused to marry. There were crones whose husbands were worthless as rotten fish, and panthers that seemed as tame as kittens.

All people that needed him.

Long dark hair flowed behind Dionysus with leaves and grape-flower tangled ‘twixt – his feet bare. A long peplos caught slightly in the air behind him, softly and impossibly flowing behind as he walked forward.

He was the perfect picture of effortless messy beauty, with the far too open neck of the shift showing off the brown expanse of his chest. His fastenings were wildly and creatively placed, inscrutable in how to replicate beyond vague ideas of how the attractive way the fabric draped.

In the middle of the field, a woman sat squat on the ground. Psalacantha. She looked at him – and gave the facsimile of a loving smile before her claw-like fingers tore into the body of the sacrifice, a large pig that was due to br roasted. Blood and viscera fell to the ground like the red skin and juice of grapes.

Some turned away from the carnage, while others whooped loudly – a throng of people moving about anxiously as they waited for the festivities to truly begin.

This was their oldest tradition – before the fucking, before the excess – harkening back to a time of madness, when he had just begun to wander barefoot from far off Nysa.

It had changed.

Much like the revelry itself had changed, where those in the camp beset by pure drunken frenzy would seek out their heart's desires, no longer simply carnal. Now, for some that was the comfort of a body or five – for other's it was the comforting twang of the lyre, or the beat of a dance.

But no matter what – it was kicked off by the god himself as he completed his earthly rites.

It was important to give back to the earth, because excess came at a price. A price that he was fully able to pay, given his particular affinity, and give back he intended to do. Even now he felt the shuddering in the soil and of the strain they all put upon it just by being here.

Tonight, a young man parted from the crowd to join him, flanked by a pretty curly haired addition. The man was Timaeus – the girl he wasn’t sure of – but he had a feeling he’d spotted her with the goats, talking to Eupraxia once in a while.

One of Aegi's shepards? Strange.

She smiled at him graciously, though she clearly hid a little behind Timaeus’s figure

Timaeus had come a long way from the fateful afternoon that Dionysus had happened upon him on the road, half dead with drink. Clearly a man in need of a good party – he’d since learned to drink like a man with something to live for, rather than a man who had nothing.

Athens was a funny place, one where a man like Timaeus could suck on another person's cock for promises of power, but when it had become known Timaeus had done it for money? He’d been sacked from his elected position, and run out of the city.

Some awful sentiment about how a man who sold his own body would be unable to resist the urge to sell out the city, if it came to it.

But standing before him now, he wanted to ask something of Dionysus – the god could tell.

“Who’s the girl?” Dionysus's cadence was playful, more curious than it was interrogative. “Someone new?”

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d initiated a new attendant to the task together – as a request from the hopeful apprentice. But it _would_ perhaps be the first time he’d ever seen someone make such a drastic career change as far as his followers went.

“No, my lord, she’s ah, a partner of mine…” The vine god’s eyes flashed to the girl, as her gracious smile was now replaced by a much more nervous grin, and a reddened face.

“Why don’t you come closer and explain?” Bending down, he bade Timaeus to say the things she would definitely be too shy to speak out loud.

Glykera was her name, and the name rang out at least a little in familiarity.

“Uhuh.”

She’d seen them together earlier in the week, at Timaeus’s behest. The revelry in Icaria – where he’d laid Timaeus down on a bed of dry dead grass. She’d _marveled_ at the things his mouth had done to the god, and perhaps as Timaeus had hoped, it had driven her heart wild where it had once been unsure.

He wondered if this might’ve been the reason for the arguing Pans earlier.

“Oh.”

So he wanted to show her what she was missing, up close and personal? Hah – _and there was a part of him that’d thought maybe Timaeus was asking to marry the girl_. Very funny, how precious of him to think.

Eros and his waxing on about stars and wives must have rubbed off on him.

Part of him salted over at the thought, but everything considered? Dionysus wasn’t opposed. It didn’t make much difference to him.

 _‘How many strangers think we fuck our whole camp at once? What’s just one more tonight – prepared or not – why not have ten more?_ ’

He pushed the thoughts down. These two didn’t deserve it. They weren’t the ones who constructed this strange artifice around him. She wasn’t even there for Dionysus – she was there for Timaeus – and there was _something_ kinda sweet about it all, bizarre as the situation was.

"And you're sure you want this, Glykera?"

“Just to watch, my lord.” The girl finally spoke, red-faced but resolute. “I-it must seem a strange request.”

“Not at all.”

No cracks appeared on the smiling face in front of them, though beneath it there was a touch of acrid coldness in his heart. In Argos the people thought he slept with his entire camp, as if his revelries were some comical looking wall of melded flesh. As if that was all there was to his revelries, or the life that he offered people.

The human tendency to seek one another out was undeniable, especially between this shepherd and this devotee.

The ways that such things manifested were too vast to count, Dionysus mused on this as he looked down at the eager couple, at the man who both tenderly held on to his partner’s hand, and looked back up at him excitedly with want.

All Dionysus wished is that Timaeus should ask beforehand – this man of all people should know little choice he felt in this moment – the impetus in this way pushing him to say ‘ _yes_ ’.

But the god in him pushes this feeling of human frailty down inside himself and agrees to the eager couple’s request.

_'It shouldn’t matter, should it?'_

Dionysus held the two handles of his chalice tight, and knelt. His eyes watched Glykera’s bare feet standing apart from the two of them as a maenad came forth to finally begin the rite.

An elderly woman with the dissonant qualities of both stern features and an indulgent smile came forward with a large amphorae, filling his chalice to the brim before she backed away.

Dionysus offered it up to Timaeus's lips – it was a symbol of what he offered, of the great inversion he inspired between what was expected and what could still exist despite that.

A smiling Timaeus accepted the cup and drank heavily before Dionysus pulled it away. Soon tumbling to the ground with a hollow clang as the god of wine let his influence wash over his partner.

The god himself was sober – no succor for him in the taste of his own brew. The minute the wine touched his chalice it turned to the concentrated substance of blinding truth that was his own _personal_ wine.

Mortal wine – well, he’d have to wait until later to break into that.

Dionysus watched the frenzy taking over the man’s body as he ran a hand down up down the side of his neck, onto his chest.

The utter state of bakkheia filled him.

‘ _Now what do you want tonight_?’ Dionysus wondered, it was a question he wordlessly asked as he stared deep into the man’s dilating pupils.

He saw that Timaeus, as always, wanted to put on a show. Not just for the crowd – but for the lovely Glykera as well.

Dionysus would oblige.

The emptiness that grew in his belly as he stroked his cock, it didn’t matter – as his body cared little what his mind felt when physical stimulation was involved. Always so ready – it made it easy to keep up his facade.

Timaeus didn’t deserve to witness that, not when for all intents and purposes Dionysus was _happy_ for him.

Just him and Timaeus for a moment, as their bodies met and slid together in torporous friction – and then Glykera pressed up behind Timaeus, running her hands down his sides. There was an exploratory run of the back of her hand grazing the god’s chest as she pressed a kiss to her partner’s neck, staring down at the expanse of masculine flesh between the two men.

The hand lingered for a moment, as if considering something – before it moved away.

When the two of them sank to the ground – Glykera still standing over them – his body moved autonomously, and his thoughts were elsewhere. Even as the fastenings fell away, and their clothes fell to the ground, he couldn’t keep himself from contemplating this strange relationship.

Glykera didn’t undress, she neither pushed Timaeus into him, nor pulled on him possessively.

She simply watched them, the interest that she’d initially shown now fading into one of care, with hands that softly touched the mortal man every now and again. A conciliatory hand on his shoulder as his lips played along Dionysus's length.

When he spread Timaeus in front of him so that they were face to face – his back was up against her as she held one of his hands in hers, something that made Dionysus fist his hard length with surprising ferocity, spreading oil.

There was something about the way her eyes were trained at the spot they _connected_ – as he started to spread it into their partner’s ass, as fingers loosened.

He tried to close his eyes, to focus on the sensation – only the sensation. Attempting to seek his release, even apart from it all by simply focusing on the tightness, the softness – the squeezing-

But his eyes opened, they wandered.

For all the thoughts Eros had stirred up in his mind, his hesitance was scraped raw – and he couldn't help but look at the two in front of him, and what was between them. Seams slipping away, as if even though it was Timaeus and Dionysus conducting the rite – it was _actually_ just Glykera and Timaeus, and that the god was somewhere far away watching the intimate moment from a shameful perch.

Even if that perch was against the ass of a man he drove tirelessly into.

The way Timaeus pulled her close later, of all things in this world _that_ brought him over the edge. Overcome by the unexpected tightening he felt, the god pulled out of his attendant’s tight hole in order to spend himself over the earth.

He let his essence stain the ground. The next time they passed this patch of land, next year, this soil would be the richest on the island.

Glykera was lucid, sober and Timaeus was lucid too in his own way. The power of divine influence that was pounding his mind out into mind-altering purity of will had done a good job of exterminating any ulterior thoughts or motives – it left him bare.

She simply cradled his head in her lap – brushed the hair out of his eyes and stared down at him – and suddenly it was clear to Dionysus.

She wasn’t there for _them together_ – she was truly just there for _Timaeus_. Dionysus watched the understanding start to filter through the man’s eyes too, into the depths of his person.

As Timaeus lay before him now, with the fine hair that covered his body and his ashy brown hair, his eyes were full of _something_ as he gazed at Glykera – and he reminded Dionysus of the man who’d look at him like that so long ago.

Guiltily, he trailed his hand down the man’s stomach, outlining the skin around where hot feverish flesh lay hard against his abdomen. There were a million things he could’ve done to the man then, to play his body and strum upon his desire – to bring his completion fast, here and now. _However_.

“I think he’d rather _you_ take care of this.” Dionysus told the woman, and he didn’t have to pretend when the ghost of a smile came over his lips. It was true – but of course, it was the one thing Timaeus could never expect of her.

“I-I shouldn’t.” Her face was entirely red now. “My responsibilities…”

“It’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?” The god paused to consider a polite way to word his next sentence, as he looked toward Timaeus. “I mean, did you _just_ bring her for a little voyeuristic fun? Or…”

Timaeus for his part looked a little guilty – sheepish even. Rather the opposite of his usual persona – but before he could answer Glykera spoke for him.

“You needed me here, right?” She smiled, looking back to Timaeus now. “I mean – maybe that wasn’t your intention… but, you did, didn’t you?”

Freckles dotting the flush spread across his cheeks, Timaeus smiled softly up at her.

“If it wasn’t for your responsibility, would you want to?” Dionysus asked her, honestly curious about what she’d answer. She needn’t feel like she was _barred_ from ever laying with someone – Aegipan would be aghast to think someone felt _trapped_ – but then he was also a bit protective of his shepherds.

The big ol’ goat man had a human flock of his own that he was eager to keep safe – he was just full of mixed messages. “They’ll understand if you need to experiment, you know.”

“I know! I just…” She mumbled, trailing off and tilting her head off to the side as she lost herself in thought.

Of course, she turned her gaze right back once she caught a glimpse of what was going on over their shoulders – by Dio’s estimate Pan had involved himself with no less than _five_ devoted revelers.

Definitely here for Timaeus, and not for the show.

“Maybe things are a little different than how you imagined… Maybe you don’t need to do it today – god knows this asshole deserves to wait a little longer, considering this stunt he’s tried to pull.” Was he flashing her a wink as he said that? “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be willing to try – as long as you actually want to. He seems… _special_.”

He was _such_ a hypocrite.

There was a part of him that thought about how maybe he should start following his own advice – but he didn’t trust himself nearly so much as Glykera apparently trusted him.

‘ _As much as everyone here seems to trust you_.’ He amended.

Unable to feel his doubt, those were somehow just the words she needed to hear – and with the moment now savoured the two mortals both staggered into the crowd, joined at the hip. Off to go do whatever they pleased – and he could honestly say he couldn’t be sure _what_ that would be.

He willed his body washed off of all the fluids of their interactions – but couldn’t find it in himself to pick his clothes off the ground other than a himation he draped over his body like a cloak.

Pushing himself up to his feet, Dionysus left himself – feeling somehow emptier than before for what he’d witnessed and taken part in.

It was hardly the most intense, debaucherous or degrading experience he’d ever had – and yet that was what informed him of the fact that he was well and truly fucked. Had he really swung so far around the bend of desireless perversion that watching two people sort out their damn relationship issues in front of him would get him off?

‘ _Well. Aren’t we jealous?_ ’

 _Gods_ , he had fallen far.

It wasn’t their fault – not truly. Not when there was this barrier he kept between the bubbling of loss underneath his skin and the words and actions he projected to the people who surrounded him.

Scanning around, looking to see that everyone was well and truly in the thick of it – with animalistic noises filling the air, both from overly excited bodies lost in their personal ecstasies – it was time for him to leave.

For everybody knew once the rite was done, and the earth renewed – the god would disappear.

Pan was better suited to overseeing what went on afterwards anyway – the satyr-like one that is. For some reason it didn’t seem right to simply call one Pan, and the other Aegipan – only to pretend as if one was the more legitimate. They were two ends of the same reed, in his opinion.

Only two in the camp were likely to find him after he’d completed his job. One – because the sound of her lyre as well as her company always seemed to aid him. The other, because it was easy for the island nymph to catch him as if he were a fish, and often the god wasn’t trying very hard not to be found by her.

The first held a measure of comfort, a sense of camaraderie. The other-

 _Psalacantha_.

She was no important or influential nymph – just an old devotee of Selene – but she knew his _old_ name, that meant things.

It let him slip away into a role that was all his own – the person he wished he could still be.

The crunch of grass told him someone approached, and the lack of proper greeting told him all he needed to know of who had found him.

She found him sitting at the foot of a massive wild olive tree, on a hill that overlooked their camp.

He was bare, completely naked as he sat upon his makeshift cloak. Much further down, he saw a single flock of goats and their shepherds who held no interest in the ecstasies as they herded their charges away from the large cats stalking around the perimeter.

It was just the two of them out here.

It was private, which was his preference. How funny that was, for _Dionysus_ of all to be self conscious at this moment.

He stared apprehensively at her as she neared, but the moment their bodies met? He was _hers_.

She never kissed him – for that was for flowery girls and boys. Why pretend? This was carnal and _transactional_. She was adept at taking – and Dionysus no longer _wanted_ to give. What she gave him was more real than any rite he conducted.

“G _ood show,_ Dio. It almost looked like you actually enjoyed yourself out there _.”_

He looked up at her ruefully – as if he wanted her to shut up. But truthfully she _knew_ something inside him leapt at her heels as she pointed out his insecurities. Deep down, he enjoyed all these little painful barbs of hers that made it impossible for him to detach.

For in these moments she had _such power_ over this nascent god – and she loved to remind him of that. Whispering of how his throne on Olympos was empty, and how he needed to take it. That he should bring her with him – there were things that such a life could bring her if he brought her with him _and how she craved them_.

Of all the sensations he experienced – and he experienced many – how had this become the sweetest? How had this become his escape?

Her lips met his skin, her teeth running across the delicate skin of his neck, then biting into his shoulder, as she left a trail of saliva in her wake. Nails that raked across his body in a way no mortal could inflict with such a lack of hesitance or reverence. His blood followed, but immortal; ichor pure.

They probably thought it impossible for anyone but an immortal or demi-godling to inflict such wounds – playful and trifling as these were. But Dionysus had a body more mortal than most gods – and wasn’t that funny?

Ichor came forth in glowing rivulets as she dragged him to the ground – and suddenly they were tumbling.

Anyone could do this if they wanted, mark him – _any_ mortal. But few dared. Of course, it wasn’t the best habit to get into, since reputedly just the _touch_ the ichor would burn away the flesh of most mortals for even daring the draw it. It was a substance not meant to be seen by _them_ , let alone touched.

But then, Dionysus _also_ had an ichor of a different quality than most – his body determined to show off its aberrant qualities as often as possible – and even her immortal skin would have felt its inebriating grasp as the small drops of the golden substance smeared between their skin.

There were whispers in the camp, of what this blood had done in his early days to the mortals who spilled it.

He hissed as she whispered in his ear, “ _Come on now, what's happened to the show you like to put on for your adoring fans_ ? _Don’t you want to oblige me_?”

The pain made it impossible to put up that facade – impossible to play the _part_ , as if he were an actor in one of his little plays. She watched the pout on his face with fascination, smiled at how it exploded into gritted teeth when she finally mounted him – let him slide inside her slick channel, it was exquisite.

But Psalacantha didn’t care about such pleasing little reactions, not truly. The act was pleasing enough – but it was what her _mastery_ of him would fruit for her that she did this for.

“ _F_ _uck yo_ —" She cut him off with a hand to his throat – pinning him to the tree. His hips were still moving beneath her as he grasped the cheeks of her ass with a ferocious intensity.

Of course, the reason he never turned her away was exactly because she didn’t _want_ to be obliged. She wanted to take him. The pain was just her little method of making him pay attention – for she knew his secret – and it wasn’t the fickle oxymoron that was the mortal nature of his immortality.

It was how truly _detached_ he was from his pleasure, and how hard he fought for none of his followers not to know. Who would follow a god of ecstasy _who had grown tired of his own pleasure_? Oh, he was affectionate to his people when he walked about easily during the day with a dopey smile on his face, saying such strange things. During the day, he lived easily.

She leaned in close, stretching out away from the ground as she kept the centre of her balance upon that raised leg up against the tree. She was close enough that she could see the madness start to grow in his eyes-

“ _H_ _oooooooy!_ Katsiki! Where are you, my little bother!”

The harmonic voice of Eupraxia washed over the plains as she sang out to her flock – and Dionysus felt an instant relief, despite the odd satisfaction drew from these exchanges. She happened upon him on nights as often as the nymph, sitting alone in the night – always looking for the little mischief maker.

Psalacantha froze.

“You want her to see you like this?” It was the first time Dionysus had reminded her of the fact that: as much as she knew his weakness, he knew hers.

How fortunate was it for him that he’d picked a spot easily found by Eupraxia on this day?

Not that the shepherd would really _care. Not in the way the nymph wanted_ – so the guilt was all on Psalacantha. Dionysus simply didn’t want to deal with the worry – he had enough friends on his back about things lately.

He was unphased by the intense speed with which Psalacantha picked up her skirts and ran down the other side of the hill as he simply rearranged himself into something _semi_ presentable for his friend to see.

One could always hear Eupraxia before they saw her, and tonight of all nights she was playing a jaunty tune on a _horn_ of all things. Often you found her with some stringed member of the lyre’s family of instruments – but she favoured an instrument of war.

Somehow she’d found a way to make it sound like it was made for a party, rather than sounding the start of a battle.

“Hey, hey! Fancy meeting the boss himself here.” The tall, gangly, and strangely ethereal woman finally appeared over the crest of the hill. She always liked to pretend she was surprised to see him, despite the all the little things she carried for him on her person. “What do you think of the tune?”

“Hmmm. I don’t think it’ll inspire many people to _battle_ – but dancing though, I could get into that.”

“Yeah! It’s _basically_ a total deconstruction of the genre, if you get my drift.” Through the darkness, he could see her throwing something at him. “Like, you can’t tell me that’s the _only_ way to use the instrument. That’s basically asking for me to mess with it!”

The red and blues of the spare clothes she’d brought fluttered past him as she tossed them – it wasn’t too hard for him to materialize or dematerialize an outfit for himself, but motivation? Ah – that was a different beast. That Eupraxia understood this and brought him clothes anyway – well, she was a precious person for a reason.

“Thanks.” Shifting gingerly off the ground and starting to dress, he felt better already. But then, knowing something would make him feel better and actually _doing_ it – those were two different things.

Sometimes he just wanted to wallow a bit – and that involved sitting in the dirt, naked and feeling shitty about himself. It was the reason he’d even gotten involved with Psalacantha – she understood _exactly_ how he wanted to feel. She indulged it.

But Eupraxia would have none of it, at least on the nights she wasn’t too busy.

She was a real pal. Always carrying a spare set of clothes for him to wear and at least seven skins full of undiluted wine picked up at the last town they’d passed through – which _was_ the good stuff as he was concerned. Something actually able to get him _drunk_ – though the volume at which he had to consume it was inconvenient.

Something to do with about not being able to get high off his own supply.

“So – you wanna sit here and have a few drinks – before or after we find the little guy?”

“After, I think.”

Finding the bothersome goat tended to be just the thing to get him feeling better – and mood was _everything_ when it came to ingesting mind-altering substances.

-

If he weren’t a god himself, and therefore living a life full of mystery and surprise, he would’ve said it was strange the way that things seemed to subtly fall into place when it came to Eupraxia and her music. Not _impossible_ mind you – but she was wonderful at finding her little flock when they went missing and they just loved to come running whenever she let that sweet music flow.

He supposed that was to be expected, considering who her parents were.

“So is this the one?” Dionysus asked, inspecting the fluffy black and white pied coat of the little goat which came up to his knees, it seemed to enjoy the attention. "The runt you showed me a month ago, right?”

“Yeah, that's him! I mean, they do tend to grow _a little_ , eh?” She ruffled the little goat’s head. “He’s doing great, I think.”

Once they'd settled down and he'd drained a couple of wine skins, he broached the idea upon her that had bee bothering him all this time.

“Eros is trying to set you up _again_?” Eupraxia looked anything but amused by the idea. “The last time that happened—"

“Is this gonna be about Aura again? 'Cause I _swear_ that was actually Artemis instead of Eros. Something that nymph said about her tits not being very maidenly or whatever – it _really_ pissed her off.”

"It's a pretty shitty thing to say, that's for sure." Not that he thought Eupraxia would've taken _quite_ as drastic measures as his sister, he could tell that she took the insult almost as personally.

"So, uh. What does my sister decide to do? She steals Eros's bow and decides to teach her a lesson about how the size of your tits _really_ had nothing to do with the concept of virginity." It would almost be a funny story he thought – if it weren't for his involvement and the way it had ended up. "So, knowing I'm over in the countryside checking out a growth of mushrooms – she fucking _shoots_ me!"

“See, on one hand I think that's _kinda awesome_ , but then on the other hand that's actually kinda fucked up.” That was the least of it.

“Emotions are a little hard to manage for us, I think. That being said, she could've stopped at one arrow instead of _five_.”

One tended to make the mind a little fuzzy and rose-coloured. _Five_ had made him go as wild as the days when Hera's madness had consumed.

“No kidding. Those _vines_ , Dio, that was some _wild_ shit.”

“Yeah, well, whatever happened Aura's a waterfall now – so how about that?” It was a sore spot in his past – he tried not to think about what happened there.

Eupraxia coughed, sensing a need for change in the conversation. “So what’s the new girl's name?”

“Eros wouldn’t tell me, winged-asshole that he is. Apparently I'd lose interest or whatever – can you believe that?"

“I mean, I’m surprised you even _mentioned_ it to me. You can't really deny that its at least been running through your head."

“Yeah, well, that’s a mystery box for you. It’s really fun and interesting – until you peek inside.”

“Afraid you’ll find a bit of hope?” Eupraxia jabbed, a bit of a laconic smile on her face.

As much as it frustrated him to think he’d made an idol of Ampelos – she was right. He’d made his image of the man so devoid of what reality was that he was afraid to look past it. Only focusing on feelings of nostalgia that had become stale over hundreds of lifetimes.

“If you’re so sure of yourself – why not just go find her yourself? The camp can run itself for a few days while you’re gone.”

“Eh?”

“Well, I mean, just think about it this way – he isn’t gonna _tell_ you anything, but don’t you gods got, like, limitless creation and resources at your hands? Why just sit on your ass? I’m sure you could find something out about her if you _tried_.”

That was true, there wasn’t anything stopping him from trying – other than himself. The camp could run itself while they in Naxos. Or at least it could for the next week or so before they had to travel back to the mainland. For now however, his followers went preoccupied offering their hands and goods to villages of the island during the festival time.

The most prestigious of his beloved crones took boats out to the little islands of the Cyclades, bestowing his blessings on the smaller fetes that were taking place to celebrate him.

Considering his options – an idea came to him.

“Hey, ‘Praxia?” He set “You won’t be mad if I made you lug all these skins back down the hill, would you?”

“Hah! I haul’d them up here without a care in the world, and that was when they were _full_.” Her ‘Little Bother’ was busying chewing on the side of one of the skins just as she spoke – and she shoo’d the furry thing away. "I'll just sing a little tune to pass the time, and I'll be back before I know it."

Perched off the side of a cliff, he was poised to turn himself into something else for the moment – the trappings of this form seeming incredibly distasteful to his mind.

Why stay grounded when he could sprout himself wings and flap himself away?

Why not fly towards and see her for himself? Why shouldn’t he take a peak! If Eros wanted to hide the truth from him so much, he shouldn’t have left him alone.

“Thanks for the outfit, and the company, Eupraxia.” If the shepherd were to blink for a second she would’ve missed the change – and in no time an unassuming little seabird sat in front of her with grape green eyes. But even a second was incredibly slow as far as his family was concerned.

For reasons he'd never puzzled out – perhaps because of his mother – so many of these things were slower for him. Some things had even come a little harder to his body, and he hardly practiced enough for it to become comfortable.

“Woah! Hey! You shouldn’t drink and fly!”

But he was already off and away – just a seagull on the wind.

-

Hours and hours later, he found himself swooping in wide circles – not around the wide sunken caldera of Thera – but a great bustling ship.

It didn’t take two days to travel from Thera to Naxos – but it _did_ if you were traveling from Crete.

Of course he only came to this conclusion after confirming that the King of Thera’s lone city, in fact, had no daughters. It had taken a bit of sleuthing and squawking around his courtyard to confirm that fact – but he travelling on the wind of a bird was so fast that he found the boat with much time to spare before his rendezvous on Naxos.

There was an inkling, as he started to come off the warm air, that perhaps he wouldn’t find what he was looking for on this ship either. But then, what was he to make of a single lone warship riding out from the direction of Crete?

An _Athenian_ vessel nonetheless – he could tell from the markings along the ship, the smell of his sister’s boons in _particular_ ran heavy on the wood.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, and to be so far along their journey at such an hour of the morning too? There was surely a reason for their flight. They would have had to leave shortly before dawn, the synchronous undulation of the oars against the smooth waves of the ocean propelling them at an incredible pace.

The force of their chorus echoed, timing the two hundred men or so’s strokes as the depth of the effort that went into their work rang out in turn.

This was no leisurely jaunt, this was punishing determination at its finest.

Landing upon the rigging, he spotted a golden haired trierarchos prowling across the bow, keeping eye on the cables of his shift – far younger than one would expect in such a dignified position, but a man nonetheless.

The puffy discolouration under his eyes, and the marks of recent battle on his body indicated that he’d had little rest as opposed to the rest of his crew. But the boy betrayed little of that with the energy he moved with.

But of course, a captain needed to be steady as he bellowed his commands into the strange pipe, carrying his voice across to all of the oarsmen.

There was a strange something upon his body, that Dionysus saw, something belted around his waist that glowed in flashes from beneath the cloak he wore denoting his status. But he dismissed it from his thoughts, considering how much the boy practically stunk of divine favour.

Often he disappeared under a canvas overhang, so often that the divine seagull wondered what had occupied so much of his attention there.

Wary of any sailors who might be keen to scare him off, he waited until they were all distracted – with the overdressed archers chatting away in their foreign language, and the command crew suitably engaged in their different activities before he swooped down to the deck.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to catch something of _great_ interest, something entirely out of place on a ship such as this.

Two young women among a group of children, though some were almost grown, but the women stuck out for more than just their age. It was in their looks – their dress with the iconic Cretan girdle that skirted and decorated their waists, and their wrists and necks decorated with shining bands that spoke of their status.

Let it never be said that Dionysus didn’t appreciate the aesthetic of form – that he didn’t appreciate _beauty_ , even if it failed to stir his loins in a way that most would expect from him.

Most people appreciated the beauty of a valley or a field flowers without wanting to fuck it, why should he be any different with the form of an individual?

Dionysus thought of how that was likely a great boon that most souls weren't attracted to natural wonders – considering the magnitude of beauteous plants, waterfalls, and constellations that existed in order to _avoid_ such a fate.

Due to his appreciation of beauty – and for knowing that Eros was no less appreciative himself – he knew that if the wife Eros spoke of was on this ship – and she was – then without a doubt he was looking at his prospects.

Different as they seemed at a first glance, his eyes were sharp enough to see the little similarities, the places that marked bits and pieces of their shared ancestry. The silver in their eyes being the clearest indicator – but there also was a subtlety of the way they held themselves that told Dionysus they shared the same mother, or were at least _raised_ by the same woman.

He suspected them sisters most likely. The question of how they had come to be on this boat was an intriguing equation that he was hungry to answer, if only to put an end to all this wondering.

No matter that his questions only seemed to be multiplying.

One was statuesque and long limbed, with burnished hair and a heavy lashed gaze. She wore warm, summer colours that played off her fair skin, and her face was unblemished with soft curved cheeks..

It was curious that it was rigid and stretched taut across her young face at that moment, much like the way her hair was tightly bound behind her into a twirling tendril of a single ponytail, decorated with bands of pearls. Supposed little pieces of lovely tears shed by Aphrodite herself – she looked like a woman who had just been given away for marriage.

Was that the reason she wore the face of a person who had a great problem to unwind? But more than a few of the young men watched her, unbothered by the intensity of her expression, and she was not so much ignoring them as it was that they barely registered to her in the first place.

She was the younger of the two, or so it seemed. It made her palpable caution seem all the more curious, considering her companion’s carefree expression.

The other woman was no less beautiful in his eyes, with her dark hair which was anything but orderly as it flowed around her. Though not as tangled as some of the children around her, it made him wonder what sort of evening she had before this ship had set out – had she simply been plucked from her sleep? Yet, for all her endearingly ( _huh_?) disorderly appearance, she didn’t look displeased at all to be there.

Her body was lush, with skin that hinted towards a coppery hue were she to have seen more of the sun’s embrace. Much like the hair on her head, but far tidier, her brows' well-defined shape did a wonderful job framing the bright expression of her dreaming grey eyes. He admired the hint of softness to her face despite the prominent carve of her cheekbones.

She seemed to be the perfect idol to worship at and lavish in the excessive natures of the body, if one were so inclined.

Although the dark hues of her peplos helped her to almost blend in near the back of the shaded area, it was impossible for his ears to miss the warmth in her voice as she spoke or his gaze to miss her excited inquisitive eyes as they seemed to flit around. Most often they were focused on the ship’s trierachos, both excited and afraid at the same time.

But then, as she twisted to mention something to her sister, he saw it.

A glowing thread winding around her insides, ominous and simply _wrong_ in a way he couldn’t quite place – and yet none around her seemed to notice it.

What _was_ that?

The god of theatre realised there was an interesting story hidden here, more intriguing than simply which was _supposed_ to be his wife – one that might perhaps avoid that fate altogether so long as he were to observe and listen. To act, when the time was right.

So he did exactly that.

-

_𐄐𐄏_

_the unrestrained_

  
  
  
  


When they left, the ocean shimmered in the dark. Little pulsating flashes of light that amazed her as they pushed the boat back to the ocean, and as the multitude of oars began to beat. Though dawn had come long ago, the sight still stuck with her. Was it magic? Or was it something normal – something that no one had ever mentioned it to her?

It was first on a list of many things she’d be able to spend her time figuring out – now that she was simply Ariadne. No longer labyrinth mistress, and truly no longer even a princess though she kept thay close to her heart. She could be whatever she wanted – and whatever Theseus needed.

“Can’t you believe it Phaedra?” Ariadne spoke fast as spirits were soaring, as all around her were new things. So many experiences already that she’d always imagined in her head, now presented for her to see in person. “What an adventure we’re on – I’d really never imagined that a boat would smell so much!”

The little houses that lined the hill as she was spirited away from the palace on a dread horse, new. The pleased look in Theseus’s eyes as she met him at the docks and the relieved sigh that came from the back of his throat – new. All these new things which fizzled pleasantly in the back of her throat.

She pinched her wrist, and the sharp sensation told her this was real as a strange smile found itself on her face.

The great boat itself with its three rows of oars and dozens upon dozens of men that laid restlessly in wait to begin their journey. The wide open ocean, as she watched Crete fall further and further away from her sight over the horizon. Theseus himself in his element – commanding his men.

He looked so different, standing in his armour with its little details that showed off his status as the ship’s commander. He acted different too – she'd barely had any time to speak with him at all after he'd proudly presented and announced her to his men. She could hardly blame him for being distracted, with how tirelessly everyone seemed to work just to move this ship.

All of it new.

 _The tears of her mother as their hands parted, the look on her face as she walked away from her._ That was new too.

But she could almost forget it all, if she immersed herself in all these things around her that she’d never experienced before.

It was all so easy so long as she imagined herself part of some grand narrative. The heroine of the kind she would tell to a brother she couldn’t bear to think about in a day far past.

They hadn’t spoken much to the Athenian nobles that sat around, as the sisters sat more apart from them than with.

Had some of them really been cats in the labyrinth, as Theseus had claimed? Apparently a few of them had even snuck a few of their feline 'friends' aboard, she'd already seen one of them poking a head around.

It all seemed too bizarre to acknowledge at the moment – she’d already had to deal with being sniffed by the girl who only whispered her name. The incident had been more strange than threatening in her opinion, but she was more than happy to settle herself in the corner with Phaedra after that.

“Can’t you believe it?” Ariadne repeated – realising that Phaedra hadn’t yet replied to her. Something about her younger sister’s demeanour was off, and not for the first time on this trip Ariadne wondered if she resented her.

“Ariadne.” Phaedra whispered, her eyes watching Theseus on the other side of the ship, overseeing his crew. “I need to talk to you later – _privately_.”

“Are you mad at me?” Please. Be mad, someone – Ariadne begged for it. Felt she deserved it. Needed something to remind her that all these wonderful things she was seeing might not worth what she’d given up. But that was selfish of her – she realised, this was all selfish of her. Phaedra had every reason to be on edge – for reasons other than her sister being there.

It stood to reason that she might not be as eager to leave her home as Ariadne was – only to end up as the second string on the lyre.

She might be scared of what lay ahead of her, just as Ariadne feared what she had left behind.

Unsure of what else to do, she pulled her sister’s taut form into her arms and felt a softening in Phaedra – and comfort bloomed within her in turn.

“I’m not mad… It’s more complicated than that.” Phaedra dipped her head, and bit a lip and it felt like they were so much younger at that moment. Back when three years had seemed an aeon, before Phaedra had begun her lessons. “But I’m going to make sure this works – no matter what I do! Just make sure your golden hero over there finds a good husband for me when it comes time, okay?”

“You’re going to help me?” Ariadne questioned, a funny look on her face as she wondered what her younger sister meant by that – wasn’t that supposed to be her responsibility?

“Yeah! And first things first – we need to brush your hair.” Scrambling out of Ariadne’s arms, Phaedra produced a comb of all things from the multitudinal folds of her clothing. “I don’t know why you always leave it down like that.”

Before she knew it, Phaedra was pulling at some of the whorls that had formed during the long and stressful night, making easy work of it.

Her sister's hands were gentle, and Ariadne was surprised at how she could almost ignore the tug of the comb as her sister fisted her locks near her scalp. She smiled, knowing her sister needn’t have taken the care but had done so anyway.

Was this the first time someone had brushed her hair, other than Tabitae?

Ariadne closed her eyes then, and focused her attention on the calming soft scrape of the comb’s tines against her scalp instead of the untrodden path that forked away from her back on Crete.

Happy with her progress, Phaedra went to work taming her hair into something that resembled her own style, tightly bound with strings of pearls that Ariadne saw her sister removing from her own hair plait.

When all was said and done, the two of them rested against each other, still wary of all the strangers surrounding them.

The fact that she hadn’t slept at all that night barely registered to her until then – and though Ariadne truly wanted to stay awake, she started to realise that she couldn’t. The pounding of the waves, the thrumming chorus and shouts of men – they all fell to a rhythm as she let sleep take her.

-

When she awoke, it was to Theseus’s honeyed words and the likeness of a smile as he looked down at her, kneeling beside her as she’d fallen asleep on Phaedra’s shoulder. When she’d peeled open her heavy eyes, she felt a bit guilty to see him after having been able to fall asleep with how tired he looked – though the sun was still high in the sky.

“We’re here.”

Half asleep, she was all too aware that this was her chance to take what she wanted, before her waking mind was fully aware and able to dissuade her. Ariadne pulled herself off of her sister and into the arms of her prospective husband – pressing a light and airy kiss to his lips.

She pretended not to notice the strange quirk to his eyebrows, and the way he pulled away fast. It wasn’t as if he looked unhappy with her – though the little smirk he wore seemed to say he was more amused by her actions than he was pleased.

“My love…” She mumbled, the words still feeling a bit leaden in her mouth – if she repeated it as often as she could, wouldn’t that make it true? Ariadne hoped so, and already it felt more true than yesterday. “Are we in Athens already?”

For his part, the prince himself didn’t laugh – it was the man behind him who did, a man who she’d seen shadowing her intended all day named Phyrrus. Theseus never seemed much to say to the man other than the occasional word – as he seemed to fall into his place without ever needing to be told what to do.

“Ariadne… Athens is a whole three days journey from Knossos at least.” Phaedra said drowsily as she roused from her own slumber.

She felt a bit silly then, wishing she had bitten her tongue. Of course, Ariadne knew very little of these things – never having had the chance to go anywhere more than an hour’s walk away.

“My men _are_ the best.” Theseus's face wasn’t unkind, but Ariadne couldn’t help but feel a peel of annoyance from him. “We’ve reached Thera so fast – who can fault my little bride for having so much faith in me?”

But as fast as she’d seen it, the look disappeared and he was the same overbearingly charming hero and prince again. All his attention on her as he seemed content to treat her like his careful treasure, doting as he helped her off the ship.

Theseus’s ship was still, beached as it was upon the island that he had said was named Thera. Ariadne felt the pebbles crunching underneath as soon her feet touched the ground.

There were tall sun parched meadows she could see far up above them – and she wondered what sorts of plants grew there. What more newness would she get to experience if she were to walk around up there?

Ariadne was glad for Phaedra’s insistence on playing with her hair now, though she wished her sister had tied it a little looser. However, it was nice to have her hair out of her face as the sun started to beat down upon her. They were walking, and the dark tones of her clothes and hair didn’t much help keep the heat from soaking into her skin – though they did seem to contrast nicely against the pearls Phaedra had strewn into the tidy little ponytail Ariadne now sported.

They set their camp upon a hill overlooking the beach, she and the others set aside to watch as the men put together their sleeping arrangements for the night. Some of the young boys even dragged by Theseus from their restive observation that the sisters enjoyed with the rest of the tributes, but Ariadne felt strangely restless as once again she was made to be put under shade.

When she lived in Knossos she never saw much of the sun, but that was for all the time she spent working indoors and in the labyrinth. Now that she had left – was she supposed to spend the rest of her life in the shade?

Finally among the grasses, she noticed that other than the odd shrub or stalk, there was a strange lack of large flora on this island that wasn't planted. She saw that even the stone was different than what she recognized on Crete. Some little bits of lichen and moss dotted boulders further inland, but it seemed that the greenest place she’d seen so far was on the beach – dotted with little bits of seaweed dragged ashore.

There were a few trees that lined a path that led up the hill, one that Ariadne figured must have been put there by the locals, judging by the spacing between the trees. But other than that, there were no other trees she could see over the landscape.

Other than a few who watched over them, and some who stood near the beached ship – many of the men had gone up to the city of Thera, seeking out water. Ariadne imagined that rowing the ship was thirsty work – if such a silly expression could even begin to describe the span of their effort.

There hadn’t been much room on the ship for all the extra people, though the effort had been made to make them fit. When she saw how many men had streamed from the insides of the ship after they beached – she had been shocked to realise that this many men had come to Knossos each year and simply let the children of their city go.

But more than that, she couldn’t imagine there was much in the way of room for supplies, other than the skins of water she’d seen every oarsman and soldier wearing.

She wondered if Theseus was one of the men who’d gone up to the city – but she saw his companion Phyrrus sitting on a boulder near them, guarding them like they were vulnerable precious cargo.

Ariadne hoped he wasn’t far, Phyrrus hadn't seemed to be more than ten paces away from Theseus on the ship.

Wherever he was though, he had at least left someone he’d trusted to guard his treasures from Crete – the people who were the proof of Theseus’s heroism. Though Ariadne knew that Catreus was unlikely to have sent any ships after them, she felt safer nonetheless that he had thought to protect her and the others.

Finding then as good a time as any, Ariadne was pulled away by her sister – just a little down the path from the rest of them, in a little corner of the zig zagging path that led up the hill. It was partially obscured not only by the rockface, but by a wizened old fig tree.

“So – you have a few things to tell me, I think.” Phaedra’s arms were crossed, but she smiled playfully at her sister. She couldn’t deny it, Ariadne had kept a few details to herself on the boat. “What happened to mother?”

“Gone.” Ariadne figeted with her elbow as she looked at to her sister. “Somewhere… with a god.”

“Whi? Or.. well, who with? Which one?”

“Ares.” Ariadne tapped her fingers percussively along her arm. “I think he was there for Tabitae.. who.. died? Temporarily? I’m not sure, it was hard to focus with everything that was happening.”

She tried her best to describe the headache of a night she'd experienced to her sister, skimming lightly when it came to her meeting with Theseus – and leaving _nothing_ out when it came to the strange collaboration of Catreus and their mother. Of Tabitae and a _god_?

Phaedra seemed to soak it all in – as much as she was able to. There were things witnessed that she wasn't sure could have been explained with words.

“I wonder if we’ll find out what it all means – or if we’ll ever see her again.”

Tears started to prick at Ariadne's vision, though she blinked them back, trying to calm the overwhelming rush of nerves that hit her. Trying to escape the undertow of the crashing wave of reality that told her ’ _No, you never will_.’

“What do you know about… the responsibilities of a wife?” Ariadne asked, changing the topic.

“We’re to stay out of sight, weave our fabrics, and most importantly—" Phaedra’s eyes were steely as she said this. “Most importantly, we do not embarrass our husbands, and we bear them children.”

“Embarrass them?” Ariadne asked, blinking, trying to focus on that rather than the latter of what Phaedra spoke of – she hoped desperately that her sister wouldn’t attempt to revisit that idea today.

“Yes! Like… by making him look soft in public, or something. Or by being overly affectionate – not that what you’re doing right now is bad! You’re doing a great job out here – away from the city. But we’ll probably have to tone it down once we get into Athens—" Phaedra was speaking so fast, Ariadne barely had time to keep up. Tone what down? Her… ‘love’?

“Now as far as children go...” Phaedra moved on, clearly having spent a great deal of time considering these ideas over their long journey in the boat. Turning her head slightly, Ariadne listened in closer to her sister, breath tight as she realised that Phaedra had a plan. “Theseus doesn’t look stupid – so he’ll play along, I think, as long as we time things right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you’re married, after all of Athens knows of you and has fallen for the pretty story of your meeting – we’ll tell him the truth… and we can figure something out together. At the very least he won’t be able to get rid of us—"

“Get rid of us?”

“Athens is a fairly dreary place, in my opinion.”

Ariadne almost wanted to laugh, the idea seemed too absurd. “Compared to the palace?”

Phaedra cupped the back of her neck abashedly, in a way that hinted that she had perhaps not considered the relative difference in the lives they had both lived. “We’re getting off topic – what I meant by ‘getting rid of us’ is… men like him need children. He could leave you for another woman, legally – and unlike Crete we’d get nothing if he decides to leave us.”

“Where would that leave us?” Would they be sent back to Knossos? Ariadne’s gut clenched at the thought.

“I don’t know—" Phaedra bit her lip then, as she tried to word her next idea delicately. “But you want to be with him, right? Let him get attached first – be his perfect little wife. We just have to make sure that, no matter what, it’s impossible for him to let you go once you tell him! Make sure that he has to keep you or else experience an awful amount of suffering – whether that’s because of his heart, or say… his public image.”

“Now, once he's got the idea, it would be easy for you to be secluded, expected to a degree! So – as long as he’s the understanding sort, it should be long enough for a baby to be ‘produced’.”

She kept talking of all these plans, all these ideas – and Ariadne wondered when Phaedra had become so _devious_. Perhaps it was a good thing, and perhaps it would be this cleverness that saved them when it came time – but there was a feeling that percolated inside Ariadne. One that was tired of all these plots and deceptions – of keeping things from others.

Her scalp hurt from the tight way her hair was styled, and her head hurt thinking about what it meant for a baby to be _produced_ – the way the emphasis had been put on the word set worry aflame inside her.

“I… I don’t wish to speak of this right now Phaedra.” Looking down at her hands, she exhaled her frustration. “I don’t even know how I could begin to talk to him about – that.”

“Well – If you need any lessons on how to be _the_ Athenian wife.” Phaedra tapped her temple with a single finger, her confidence shining brightly in a way that Ariadne envied right then. “I’ve got all the info we need stored right in here – and – oh _shit_ – your lover boy’s coming this way.”

Where had Phaedra learned to swear? _Why_ had she begun to swear? Perhaps she was growing more accustomed to her new lack of marital prospects and responsibility more than Ariadne had anticipated.

When Phaedra started to walk away, Ariadne reached out nervously for her sister. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Her sister simply tipped her head before drawing close for a second longer. “Be bold, Ariaki! You’ve been pretty.. hands on with him so far, or at least I'm guessing you have from what you've omitted – and we’re away from his men! I think you know what to do more than I do.”

Giggling like the young girl she was, Phaedra raced off – and for all her clever ideas, Ariadne wondered if this was all a game for her. Her sister put too much faith in her _skills_ – and she wasn’t like Acacallis, a woman who could have charmed honey from a hive of bees.

But they only had each other to trust – so Ariadne supposed she’d have to try.

Ariande turned toward Theseus, who was sauntering towards her with a lightness in his step that she hadn’t seen before, an air of implacable rhythm. When he stood in front of her, she clasped her hands behind her back and attempted to look nonchalant – but she couldn’t help the skip of her heart in her chest as he slid an arm around her shoulder.

“You look different.” Biting a lip after she spoke, she cupped a hand in hers and settled her cheek into his palm. She didn’t want to look at him while she said the next thing – there was too much to have to interpret in that shining face of his more often than not. Too much to think about. “Prettier.”

Had Theseus always been so tall, and his face so easy going? Were his eyes always that greenish shade of blue – or was that just the way the light was hitting him? She had known him for so little time that it was hard to tell – but this cozy expression seemed so welcoming that she didn’t wish to question it.

“Speak for yourself.” He said, his hands starting to play with the thick banded ponytail that ran down her back. “The pearls suit you.”

-

For a while they spoke of many things, all of which mattered little. They spoke of the wizened fig tree they sat under, and he listened to her talk on about the grasses and shrubs she’d seen. It was thrilling to experience all these new sights, just as much as it was to recognise old friends rooted in the ground.

Theseus even surprised her with a few astute observations about the soil, much as she would not have expected it from him. Ariadne was ecstatic that he so actively listened to her prattle on about her interests - just as much as she was to have something to discuss with the man other than the fates that lay both behind and before them.

As they sat on they ground, they made a game of observing the different kinds of bees that landed on the scant wildflowers in bloom right front of them. Little black ones, huge fluffy orbs, and common honeybees were among their count. Some of the fluffy bees had bright banding colours around their abdomens, different than she’d ever noticed on Crete.

“I wonder if they’re little crests?”

“Well! Having traveled far as wide in my travels, hero that I am, I can _quite_ certainly assure you that most islands _do,_ in fact, seem have their own shade of bees. Somewhat like flags – though I suppose that's a bit of an abstract way to think of it.” It was such a strange thing to claim. Yet like everything else, he said it with such confidence that Ariadne had no choice but to believe him. It wasn’t as if she could really _refute_ any of it.

“How do you know so much about insects?” Between all the battling for glory, captaining of ships and prince-ing, how could could find time to learn about such tiny insignificant things?

“Oh, what is even the point of such travels if you don’t stop to appreciate the sights around you?” He fluttered eyes at her meaningfully. “Such is the life of a hero. Means you see a lot of lands and, well, a lot of bugs.”

“I suppose I’m just surprised you noticed.” Ariadne thought him the type to have lost all those little details as he chased every little goal. Not that she minded – in fact now that she knew, Ariadne hoped this would not be the last time they secreted away together and _talked_. Simply enjoyed the minutiae of the world around them.

Why did she trust him so much, right at this moment? Why did she feel compelled to speak the truth – to make sure he knew? Why did she find this Theseus so likeable, the one there with her at that moment against the fig tree? Of all the sides she’d seen of him, this was the most gentle, the sweetest – the most earnest. The maddening way his touches affected her – it made her forget every little thing done that made her doubt herself.

“Is it okay…” Ariadne took a breath as she pulled her hand away from his.

Strangest of all, it made her feel as if it was okay to share her doubts with him.

“Is it okay if I don’t entirely love you yet?” Ariadne looked up to the sky, or what little pieces of it filtered through the palmate leaves of the tree. She wasn’t quite brave enough to look him in the eyes as she said this. “Though I think I could.”

Smooth as could be, he leaned himself against the tree’s trunk. But despite the playfulness of his actions there was a strange and serious look on his face as he pulled her up and onto him, her centre against his. Ariadne saw it in the tightness of his jaw, and the subtlety of his lips.

“How long have I known you, Ariadne?” The question seemed rhetorical – and it should’ve been. But there was a strange honesty to it as if he was truly curious – though she couldn’t help but think he was simply teasing her again.

“I’m sorry – I’m trying—"

“How long?”

“A day?”

There was a sigh from him, deep and troubled. "I’m... not the one you should be having this conversation with.”

“You told me to say I loved you.” Ariadne frowned. “I don’t know who else to talk to.”

“It wasn’t reasonable to push that on you so fast, Ariadne.” He sounded so _frustrated_. “You don’t need to be entirely _anything_ yet.”

She desperately wanted him to know that if she wasn’t ready to _love_ him, she was feeling more than ready for other wonderfully intimate things.

Before this, she hadn’t yet had a moment with Theseus that hadn’t been characterized by the nerves she had felt just interacting with him. Not until she'd sat with him here in the grass had she felt the impetus to attempt to explore him.

True, she had clung to the idea of him for comfort in her mother’s hearth room – but the man himself? Until now, she’d had an omnipresent feeling that he’d seemed to only find her _interesting_ rather than desirable. It was a funny feeling.

This wonderful peaceful moment, where she wasn’t pushed and prodded for answers, and pushed into a corner – it opened her up more than anything else had.

Sitting shaded underneath the leafy canopy, Ariadne felt a strange comfort as she rested on the hero’s lap. The first moment of calm that she enjoyed with him – something that made it easier to approach the idea that Phaedra had planted in her mind.

To _be bold._

“I was wondering…” She skirted a hand along him, where his neck met the corded muscles of his shoulder. He’d kissed her there during that surreal sunset, and it had felt nice – even filtered through her dread. “Would you let me touch you?”

“And how would you like to touch me, Ariadne?”

Biting a lip, she placed a hand over the hard pressed linen overtop of his stomach, knowing where she’d end up if she moved her hands down further – nearing the spot that her warm centre currently rested on. She could manage this, right?

After all, what had been the cause of her hesitation other than circumstance? Perhaps she’d enjoy this now that she had the opportunity to savour the moment and look down at his body. To see in the light of day how the layers of linen and leather conformed to his muscles, sculpted and aesthetic.

There was no insisting presence between her legs, but she could still feel _him_ , as it were. Not quite hard but still very much extant, very much something she was having trouble not thinking about, now that she’d put herself in this position.

Scooting herself back along his thighs just a nudge, she placed her hands astride him, wandering just below his narrow waist and underneath the leather straps and fabric that shielded his upper thighs. Ariadne circled the prominent jut of his hipbone along his body, hoping that Theseus could feel the intent dripping from her, and she wondered what her face looked like then.

Did it look as inviting as she felt? Not knowing what a look of invitation might be, she hoped it was at least a good approximation.

“And this is the same girl I was just talking to?” He asked her, managing to only be slightly agasp. “Who told me she needed time to fall in love?”

“Aren’t I?” Her voice was light, almost unfamiliar to her and upon noticing the airiness of it, her expression nervously wrinkled into a smile.

“I suppose I’m just feeling conflicted. About what I’ve done.” Theseus admitted, and Ariadne wanted to _scream_. Why now of all times was he choosing to show a capacity to doubt himself? “Do you want this? Or are you just trying to convince yourself to love me?”

“Is it okay to be both?” As much as Ariadne wished to clench her fingers tightly into her palms, she was conscious of the soft skin beneath her. “Is it okay for me to want this, even if I don’t love you yet?”

Pressing closer against him, letting him feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, she admitted shyly. “When you’re like this, Theseus. I _want_ to try.”

“You barely know me.” He whispered with a wry smile, covering her hands with his, and pulling them from his body. Ariadne tried to pull her hands from his grip, only to find them trapped as he wove their fingers together.

“Alright. You want to make me happy?”

Nodding, Ariadne wondered where this might lead.

“Let me be the one to touch you.”

‘ _Oh_.’ Much as she’d been excited to attempt her own exploration, she couldn’t deny that a part of her – specifically right in the pit of her stomach and between her legs – was entirely willing to let Theseus continue what he’d started the night before. “Okay.”

“We’ll start here.” He said in a funny singsong tone, and before she knew it – he was reaching for her ponytail.

“ _This_ looks rather uncomfortable.”He said, and before she could process what was happening, it was in the process of being dismantled. He was pulling the bands from her hair, slowly undoing her sister’s work with a delicate hand that she hadn’t realised he had.

There were words she associated with Theseus before this moment: precise, deft, rigorous.

But not delicate – who was this Theseus? She wasn’t sure, but she enjoyed the little sensations of pulling upon her scalp as he carefully tugged and drew apart strands of pearls away from strands of hair. He seemed to take delight in letting it fall away from his fingers.

“It’s going to get tangled if you do that.” She chided him gently. It was perhaps a bit late to argue, now that her hair had already been so satisfyingly and successfully tugged free of confinement and scattered to his heart’s content. “That’s why Phaedra tied it up.”

He set about stringing the pearls, wrapping them around and draping her forehead in such a way that kept her hair out of her eyes. “Should I tie you up, to keep you from getting tangled up in trouble?”

“Ah—" There was that tightness again, returning. Coyly, and half-hidden in gasping laughs, she asked him. “Would you really do that?”

“Hm. Perhaps I’m sensing that might put you _more_ in trouble.”

“How might that be?”

“It won’t get tangled – not right now anyway.” Ignoring her question, Theseus apparently elected to bring the conversation back on track after it had careened so drastically into directions Ariadne was still _very_ curious about. “Just get your sister to brush it for you later.”

“Did your mother teach you to do this?” Ariadne couldn’t imagine where else he’d learned to fix a woman’s hair, though even this seemed a stretch to think – Theseus had always seemed so glaringly masculine. But how much did she really know about him? Realistically, she knew as little of him as he did her.

“Hmmm.” His voice was something melodic, but there was something of a sad note to it. “I wish she had.”

But before she could focus upon that note of melancholy, a sprig of flowers was pulled from his tunic. Its inflorescence was a strange seeming thing – lacking petals. The prominent white stamens more than made up for it though, sprouting from their stalk where they burst out from their buds in umbrella like formations, appealing in their own way.

He had a sly smile as he placed it behind her ear and arranged it against the pearls. Ariadne had to resist the urge to ruin his work, to take it in hand and examine it – but she wouldn’t. Not when she was feeling truly touched by the gesture.

She’d have to look at it later – before she slept.

Not quite unable to stop herself from running a hand past it, she found that only one had bloomed as fingertips mostly slid along buds that had yet to flower.

The few plants she saw dotting the tall grass around them even vaguely resembling this formation seemed to have already gone to seed, and this felt spry and fresh. “How’d you find that? It doesn’t look like anything else in season.”

“Luck, I suppose.”

Little plinks sounded against the wood of the trunk as the fastenings and fibulae were shed from her fully. Theseus seemed to have contented himself of playing with her hair for now.

Now interested in more nubile pursuits, he drew the fabric down the middle of her chest with the point of one adamant finger. Down and down he drew, until her breasts were bare in front of him and the strip of fabric was drawn underneath to push them up into the air. He stopped his meandering just before reaching her belly button, and admired her in a way that felt new all itself.

“You look like a maiden from a fresco.” His voice was more light and playful than it was reverent, but she felt appreciated. "Only slightly less colourful, I suppose we need more flowers.”

Ariadne snickered a bit as she looked down at herself – knowing exactly the kinds of paintings he spoke of. Ones painted long before her time that decorated the walls in the palace, rather than the depictions of heroics in the labyrinth.

Of dolphins, of young men and women jumping bulls – the women always having their breasts bared for some reason or another. Ariadne had always wondered if the man who first painted a woman that way realised he’d be starting a trend. “I didn’t think you were an appreciator of art.”

“The greatest.”

“Shall I paint you?” He pulled another sprig from his clothing, and ran it from collarbone to collarbone in a drawling careless fashion. He painted her in broad strokes, before lowering the little buds to her nipples, letting it push in and depress into the softness of an areola. A tickling hunger started to build inside Ariadne as the bareness to the air and the caress of his budding flowers brought her sensitive little nubs to attention. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”

Little breaths escaped her mouth as she pulled his free hand between her legs, letting him feel what he’d started. Ariadne was content to let him watch and feel her overtop his palm as she rubbed her sensitized button in laborious achey circles that lit her up her body in sensation.

Had his touches always seemed so literally dizzying? The few times she’d been alone with him had been dominated by an intensity, but this was surely more than that. This overwhelmed her – yet somehow it was a cozy intensity, one that felt like she could burrow herself into forever.

The sound of her fingers furiously working rose from between them, and she hoped he could tell how much she wanted this. She needed him to realise it was more than just her trying to convince herself of an idea, that she really did want him.

When he finally reached out with his hands, a finger slipped shallowly into her tight hole and stretched her easily as it fluttered against her ready entrance. Her walls greeted his finger with a fluttering of its own, as Ariadne let it all sink in.

“Do you know that you’re quite sensitive?”

“You’ve used that line before…” She was utterly squirmy and almost incoherent, and yet he seemed to find her intelligible despite it. “Can’t help it. F-feels rather f-funny…”

He breathed a careful apology against the shell of her ear, and Ariadne was puzzled. What should he feel sorry for? It was her body’s funny idea to be reacting like it did – and she was sure that only was because she well and truly _wanted_ him this time.

If only she didn’t feel so _sleepy_. Hadn’t she already slept enough on the boat?

“Really?” Had she ever seen Theseus blush? Well, she was seeing it now. “It’s not as if it stopped being true, is it?”

Ariadne had no words to say to him as she shook her head, more than a little drunk on the experience. She liked being perched upon him with the soft moss under her knees, feeling his hardening flesh against her thigh as he fingered her langorously.

Even if it was _his_ hands and fingers reaching in between her legs, there was a measure of control she felt in her position.

“Is it always going to feel like this?”

“Most likely not.” He seemed to be full of half answers today, but he still held that classic confidence and control of his that never seemed to diminish, no matter the situation.

There was a part of her that was glad to think that the ferocity of these feelings would eventually wane, and that she wouldn’t always feel so drunk on his touch. But bizarre as it was she’d miss _whatever_ this was.

She wanted to immerse herself in this moment and live out the intense feeling that had built up inside before its finite nature was made clear.

When her ecstasy hit her, Ariadne came to the hum of a tune that Theseus sang under his breath clenching madly at the lone finger that still teased at her entrance, only sunk barely a knuckle deep.

There was a soft apologetic touch on the side of her chin before she was falling – back into the grass, soft and contented. Drunk – she felt so sleepy, so tired, her body over encumbered.

Her end was found at the hand of a kiss from Theseus, his lips touching hers as he tasted faintly of wine. What had Theseus been drinking? Ariadne was pondering whether or not it was selfish of her to slip a tongue inside his mouth again (just to see _how much_ he tasted of wine) when her eyes fluttered closed.

Dreaming of grape flowers, she fell-

Asleep.

-

𐄑

_the grapevine effigy_

__

  
  
  
  


The sun was shining down, sun-dappled between the leaves. The god of wine breathed heavily as he looked down at who lay before him. The Cretan princess. Just a girl, and she’d taken so much of his influence before finally falling to it – he hadn’t imagined her to be quite so robust.

They'd gone a little further than he’d intended - and they had further to go still. His lips tingled from the transfer of influence between then, as Dionysus felt somewhere between self-contempt and self-righteous.

But she was open to him, flushed and alight with willing energy even as she fell into the depths of slumber. All necessary for what was to come next.

The uncomfortable, unavoidable _next._

He’d never considered himself the kind of god to do this - _the kind of person to do this._ Not when he was in his right mind in any case. But then here he was. The girl known as Ariadne underneath him as he wore the face of another man; because he was attempting to be all too clever.

So bright, so deeply rooted - a thread woven this tightly could not just be pulled free like a loose end.

To unseam it required a closeness Dionysus did not possess – so he came to her with a false face. Perhaps he was naive, thinking their relationship had born enough fruit for him to take advantage, but it wasn’t his intention for her to pour out her concerns so readily. He hadn't expected that his inability to control his own reaction would engender such a desire of intimacy from her.

Whatever had happened, these two _needed_ to talk it out.

(If Dionysus were the type to pause. The type of man to have wondered in that moment what particularly unhappy part of Crete this princess hailed from - he might have stopped his plans right then, knowing talk might never be enough to close the gap. But alas.)

As it stood, all he knew was that it was quite possible that Ariadne had spent more time with him, the fake-Theseus, than she had with the real one.

And it was his company she seemed to enjoy the most.

The way she had let him selfishly attend to her hair as he played the part of her lover, leaning into his touch, and trying to sweetly court him? She had been all too becoming, if only that she’d been able to forget the nerves that were running through her. It was a good thing that he _wasn’t_ his father or his brothers, or else he might be tempted.

As if he hadn’t already had half a thought that it _would_ have been fun to spend some more time pretending with her, counting bees. But all the qualities that made her interesting surely made her worth avoiding too.

The grape flowers would have to come with him when he left. She didn’t need to see that when she woke up, since he was only here for _half_ -selfish reasons rather than _fully-_ selfish ones.

Ariadne didn’t need any reason to remember this particular moment with _Theseus_ – much as she’d seemed to enjoy his deceitful company.

He rationalized the flower he’d produced as a necessary piece of symbology, one he’d needed to place on her person to help him hold his focus. Had his heart even felt a drop of pounding heat as he whispered sweet things to her, and placed it lightly behind her ear?

‘ _Don’t answer that question_.’ He told himself.

Dionysus had tried to be as truthful to her as he could manage – in a twisting sort of way. He _had_ thought her better suited to having her hair strewn artfully around her, and he had seen enough of the paint in Crete to know she would have made a fine model for an artist.

There was even a strange pleasure he experienced, watching a beguiled expression developed on her face as he drew the tension away from her scalp.

Ariadne didn’t deserve that little thread placed in her abdomen, wending through her form.

 _Someone_ had woven a spell upon this girl – and he was fairly certain who it was. It wouldn’t have been the first time Eros had done something like this.

A clever little plan, knowing Theseus was so-favoured by his sister. Her symbol emblazoned on his shield, a ferocious screaming gorgon shining and golden - her influence seemed to suffuse the ship – and it was only a matter of time before she was to check in on her hero.

Surely when Athena set her divine sight upon Ariadne, she would see exactly what he saw. A piercing thread shining from her insides, screaming out.

Dionysus would have bet at least a hecatomb of oxen that if Athena were to pull out that seam, it would be _his_ name planted as a lurid signature. A flagrant and almost excessive show of claim that would have his ever-so-wise sister thinking Ariadne had already been claimed by the god of wine.

Perhaps she was known for being just – but Dionysus knew her to be meticulously logical more than anything else. Even if she figured out that it _wasn’t_ him who had woven the thread, she’d likely consider the girl too much trouble to be worth it.

Very slick of Eros – but he’d have to try harder if he wanted Dionysus to fall for the same trick _again. (_ Had it only been a century since he’d try to pull a similar con, with a nymph, a blacksmith and a foreign river god?)

 _‘...so that's how it happens. Athena's gonna tell her little hero to leave Ariadne behind on my island because of this._ ’ And Theseus would do it, of course, it would be foolish to defy one’s patroness.

Dionysus felt a touch of guilt for wearing the prince's face. And _of course_ he felt bad for deceiving Ariadne – for putting on the guise of her… lover?

The word didn’t quite seem right, knowing what he did now.

Maybe she’d said a thing or two that concerned him – but this Theseus seemed important to her. Or at least _represented_ something important to her. Dionysus wasn’t the sort of god _or_ man who was going to let it be taken away just because Eros had decided she was the answer to a riddle.

One that neither the erote _or_ this girl had any business solving.

Instead of having to go through an awful abandonment – instead of having to acclimatize herself to life far different than someone raised in a palace could imagine – months from now, she’d be in a palace in Athens. Her belly would be round with a child, and all her worries would be gone away.

But first – he’d undo this damn spell.

How long had he sat with Ariadne? He was starting to become anxious that the real Theseus might happen upon them on the way back from the town.

So he fast got to work, spreading sprig after sprig of flowers around her, matching the one upon her brow and one he’d set aside after teasing her body. The ground was littered with them.

‘ _Now isn’t that a wonderful pose for those frescos we were talking about_?’

Dionysus bit his lip, and ignored the whispering voice, niggling and annoying as it was – though he agreed.

Two of his fingers slid down the curve of her abdomen, and the god closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the thread within her and followed along its path overtop her abdomen. Physically, his fingers were following under the fabric, and over her mound. Mentally he saw the thread as it drifted into the little divot of her belly button and inside _her_. Not just her body, but her full essence of being.

Unable to follow the thread directly, his fingers finally reached slippery pink flesh that waited for him – and he wondered if this was the best way to go about this. But wasn’t it his only choice?

He’d hoped to use the channel of her heart when he’d approached her. But then, she’d said it herself – that wasn’t open to him. She didn’t quite _love_ Theseus yet.

He, or rather _Theseus_ had only opened her thighs and dewy slit. But he needed _something_ if he was going to remove that thread – then _this_ was the only channel open to him.

He took no pleasure in this. But what did that matter, when he was still doing it all the same?

What form had Eros taken, that he could have set this thread so deeply, so completely into her as he had? What channel had he used, that it followed such an omphalic path into her navel and ran its way within as tightly as it did?

The girl and her tense little body pushed up against him as he reached out to finally touch her the glistening folds of her cunt.

A whimper escaped her.

He looked down to the girl and her closed eyes with his heart stopped, wondering if they were going to flutter open in a moment. His fingers frozen at her entrance – until he relaxed, realizing that she still slept soundly

 _Of course_ , she did.

Swallowing, he pressed a finger into her now familiar warmth. He tried to be professional, probing for the thread, rather than for her reactions. It wasn’t hard to move his fingers when she was so wet from what he’d done earlier – and Dionysus sharply reminded himself that the _act_ was over, other than the mask he still wore on his face.

If both of us barely know Theseus, then who was she melting for? Who was he pretending to be?

' _Dumb questions, Dio. Stop asking them._ '

Skirts still drawn up around her, fingers sinking in knuckle deep and more inside – he tried to read more into the spell, rather than into the way the sleeping girl arched up against him. The way she pleasantly sighed a sleepy moan.

As it turned out, he need not have worried about this being painful for her.

Those worries now put aside, the thread burned and flickered as Dionysus concentrated the full force of his attention upon it. Whether or not she had a strong connection to Theseus wouldn’t matter when he was a god. Surely he could compensate.

 _But then the thread burned back_.

It began as a little tickle of a flame down upon his wrist, like the kiss of a million tiny needles. He persisted onward, thinking it nothing in the face of his power. But before he knew it, the tiny flame was a blooming corona of fire as each tiny needle burst into an injection of liquid hot deterrence.

Yet it gave him the choice to withdraw or not, as the pain taunted him. ‘ _I_ _s this worth what you seek?’_

As if it were a simply question of _yes_ or _no_ – did you have the determination, or didn’t you?

But pain had a wonderful elucidating quality about it that tended to make things clear – and as much as he wanted to help her, and as much as he wanted to outsmart Eros? He could barely move a finger without feeling like every pore was filled with ethereal fire. Shattered needles apparently made of _glass_ for how its splintering refrain ran through him.

_The price was too much._

Dionysus drew his hand back – shocked at the sensation of numbness that hit upon withdrawal. The pain was excruciating – _exquisite_ – yet his hand was smooth and unblemished.

And before he could take time to consider what in Tartarus had just happened, his ears picked up the yelping call of a bird above him.

A gods be damned _little owl_.

While not necessarily his _least_ favourite representative of the avian clade, it was the last bird he wanted right then. Part of him hoped this was just a wild animal, some unlucky coincidence. But he knew it wasn’t the mind of a beast that stared down at him, not with those wide yellow eyes wise beyond its species.

So like any smart deity, he changed form and got his ass out of there. But not before making sure Ariadne was well and decent, because he had been _trying_ to be a kind deity as well.

Only it was rather unfortunate he seemed to be failing at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Hope you guys enjoy this installment- and since I apologised for last chapter's lack of spice, I shall apologise for this chapter's overloading of the spice.
> 
> If anyone wants to hit me up and peruse some art I have drawn, I got a Discord server right over [here](https://discord.gg/2cdDzPb).


	5. The One Where Theseus Does Literally One Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught by Athena, Dionysus works out a deal. So does Theseus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dith·y·ramb  
> /ˈdiTHəˌram/
> 
> noun  
> a wild choral hymn of ancient Greece, especially one dedicated to Dionysus; the origin of Tragedy.

_  
𐄑𐄇_

_a dreamer_

  
  
  
  


_Ariadne dreamt, and in her dream she lay on a bed of woody vines._

_All around her were strange flowers, those strange petaless things which were newly woven into her consciousness. They wound round her with the softest of affections, tickling her face. They were strange unknown things given by her lover, things which she hadn’t truly known in her waking world. But here, looking at them with unworn and unmaking eyes - she did._

_As if they were something she'd always known._

_There was a soft pleading place within her that felt a strange comfort at their scent - felt drawn into their embrace._

_A sweeter scent than any perfume, but without the sickly cloying aspect, instead possessing an earthiness that added fathomless depth._

_But even as it surrounded her, it felt fleeting. As if she might lose it. And Ariadne felt compelled to take one deep breath after another as somewhere within her dreaming mind, a truth that spoke to her. One that whispered that nothing was permanent, and of how that especially applied to liminal spaces such as these._

_Yet she held even tighter to the scent, and fully committed it to her memory, even if - especially if - her experience was to be impermanent._

_Suddenly, there was a piercing shriek._

_It pulled Ariadne from her peace in the vines, though the pleasant scent still clung to the edges of her subconscious. When she looked toward the noise - up to the sky - she was made witness to a great pursuit between a gull and an owl._

_‘What a noisy seagull,’ the girl thought, ‘and what an odd little owl this is, who flies so silent through this strange space.’_

_But as they flew further and further away, a strange pulling sensation made itself known within her._

_A drawing of a cord within her abdomen, and as Ariadne she looked down - she was surprised to find herself tethered to the gull. Her mouth simply left open in a mildly surprised 'o' as it flew further and further away, and the cord tickled as it seemed to spill forth endlessly from her belly._

_She wondered what might happen if she ran a finger across the taut length. Or what might happen to the poor gull if the cord ran out._

_Her worries, however, were for naught as she felt a sudden jerking across the line cast between her and the gull - as the owl succeeded in her pursuit with talons that sank into feathery flesh._

_The two birds slammed into the dry grassy earth, as Ariade in turn crashed out of slumber._

-

She could hear a chirping in the air - small birds somewhere around her. Birds.

An owl? A seagull? _Perhaps a flock of deadly feathered blackbirds?_

As much as she wondered, half drowsy and full of torpor, her eyes wished to stay closed for a few moments more.

So she listened to them, still half a foot over the threshold of somewhere where being Ariadne mattered little, and she simply existed.

But when her eyes did finally open, everything seemed too bright, and her eyes bleary and creaking, her mouth was dry as the summer meadow at her feet. It was a strange feeling to wake up to, and she wondered whether she’d ever woken up to feel so tired from her sleep.

Helios was still in the sky, if at least for the last vestiges of his great traverse, and she felt glad for the moment that she’d been under the shade of a tree. She'd never met her grandfather, but all the same she thought it was a bit awkward since…

' _Since what?_ ' Ariadne asked herself.

_Oh-_

Theseus! Where was he? Looking around, Ariande found herself entirely alone - no prince to be found hiding in any nook or cranny in her vicinity.

Her memory was hazy, and she remembered little, but her body held the memory, at least, of that intoxicating comforting kiss as she had begun her tumble into sleep. More memories streamed in, as she looked up to the canopy of the tree they’d sat under, and spoken of … bees?

She had the faint memory of his hands in her hair, and a fuzzy feeling in her heart that told her she had things to feel cheerful for.

With a stretch and a loud yawn Ariadne picked herself off of the ground - and she was surprised to see several little sprays of flowers sliding off her body.

She was littered with them, and suddenly Ariadne remembered everything. A frisson of heat passed through her cheeks, and she remembered the way they had felt sliding across bare sensitive skin.

Had they always been so numerous? Or had Theseus gone and found more while she slept before he left her?

Still half dreaming, she remembered the heavenly scent in her now fleeting dream, and now buried her face to revel in the smell of sugared earth.

Passing a hand over her right temple, she was relieved to find the one he'd planted still holding fast and smiled to herself. Soft and gooey as honey, she recalled what had happened and how sweet the prince had been to her.

She would have to take her time telling him about everything, like Phaedra had said. But after that afternoon, Ariadne was sure that eventually everything could actually work out for the better.

Like Asterion had wanted.

Ariadne sighed heavily, bubble bursting at the thought as she began to restrain the intensity of thoughts that Asterion roused. So ready to tamp it all down, to repress.

But then, looking around, she thought, ‘ _Why?_ ’ There was nobody around to admonish her for losing her wits and no one to judge.

Truly alone for the first time since she’d been back on Crete.

A part of her acutely wished for arms that could hold her - but who could understand? To even begin to explain how she felt... she wasn’t ready. But Ariadne understood herself at least, and understood the sickly feeling of grief that reared its head as soon as she was isolated enough to actually process it.

So, even though she was alone - even though she wished she didn’t _have_ to be alone for this - Ariadne finally let herself process a tiny fraction of what had been boiling beneath her ribcage, and she wept.

Careful not to ruin the flower, she wiped at her eyes until they were raw and abraded by the friction.

She thought it would be just a small tiding over, but it quickly grew within her. Fat drops of saline that Ariadne could contain within herself no more than she could have stopped the sluggish dried out feeling of her body as she hunched over, her nose runny as her eyes and all of it dripping into the grass.

She thought of her brother, as optionless as he was, and for her mother who only wanted to hold on to her, even as everything burned behind in her wake. She wept for Tabitae, who had been trapped into servitude - who had been silenced.

Each of them were now free, in a way. Each of them beyond Ariadne's grasp, whether in death or shrouded in unreachable mystery.

Ariadne cried tears for seemingly everyone but herself before she thought to try and dry her eyes.

The sun had dipped a bit further down, but not so far that she couldn't have been sleeping for more than an hour. How long she’d spent chatting the afternoon away with Theseus, or crying under the tree, Ariadne could not say.

“Ariaki!”

A familiar feminine voice called from above - who must have been wondering what was keeping her so long. Phaedra!

Ariadne blushed as she wondered what her sister would imagine had preoccupied her time, and though Phaedra wouldn’t necessarily be wrong, there was also a lot of time spent doing… things that weren’t _that_.

There was the matter as well of the evidence of her sorrow, painted across her face in lines of hair that stuck to her damp cheeks, and the abraded rawness of her eyes and nose.

“Your eyes are red!” Her sister frowned. "Theseus only just returned - I was wondering why you weren’t with him …”

Phaedra paused, considering what to say next.

“Did he hurt you?” Phaedra whispered, her eyes pleading with Ariadne to be truthful.

“No!” Ariadne gasped, her stomach dropping. “N-not at all. I just― fell asleep … and when I woke up I was alone. A-and I suppose my mind just couldn’t help but wander itself into thinking about everything it shouldn’t - about mother and … Asterion.”

For all that he was the world to her, Phaedra knew him not. She had no memories like Ariadne did of their stubbornly honourable brother and the guilt that ate away at his insides. Never knowing the man who tried to cover it up under the guise of martial prowess and fascination with heroic ideals.

But who else would she be able to talk to about Asterion among them? _Theseus?_

She’d _never_ dare broach that topic with him, no matter how at ease with him she grew, afraid as she was of what he’d say, of what he’d tell her that he saw.

“You were close - I...” Phaedra started, her face betraying how uneasy she was to speak of him - Ariadne’s closeness being the extent of her knowledge about her half-brother, beyond all that was infamous. “Do you want to talk about him?”

Ariadne was quiet for a while, pondering the thought.

“No.” It was still too raw, too much to explain, and there was not enough of Ariadne left to do it in her grief. “But … perhaps someday.”

Phaedra smiled softly at her and didn't push the issue further - though she squeezed Ariadne’s hand tight as they walked back up, hand in hand.

When they arrived back up the hill, they found Theseus with a man, busy with an examination of an ugly laceration which wound up the prince's arm.

The man was an unarmored oarsman and a root cutter by the way he worked - Ariadne recognized the herbs he applied from her mother’s teachings.

Biting a lip, she hoped that she hadn’t aggravated his arm earlier. She couldn’t for the life of her remember whether the arm she drew up toward her core was bandaged or not at the time, so terribly focused as she was upon bringing herself to release on top of him.

How inconsiderate of her not to think of his wounds - and that seemed more shameful to her now than anything else.

Red-faced, Ariadne approached with her sister. Had Theseus left her there sleeping under the tree in order to seek out treatment for his wounds? Her heart lurched - and Phaedra had asked _if he hurt her_.

“What nice flowers decorate your hair.” Theseus coyly commented as he greeted them, or at least she thought so. Like that, the anxiety conjured by the hypotheticals of her imaginative mind melted away. “Where did you find them?”

Before she spoke aloud to tease him gently for such a question, she thought back to what Phaedra had said, and of how different the prince seemed to act in front of everyone. She thought of how he’d been when there were alone and unstressed, without the pressures of his men watching, or destiny bearing down upon him as it had been in Crete.

Maybe now was the time to exercise some restraint?

“Oh, just under a fig tree.” Ariadne looked up from Phaedra and back to Theseus, smiling broadly at them both. Biting a lip, she had her own coy attempt at subtext as she spoke to the prince. “They were so sweet smelling - and felt so nice upon my skin … so of course I took them with me, dear as they were.”

"Oh?" Theseus had a funny quirk to his brow as he considered her words - perhaps a little more condescending she might have thought, if it weren't for what lay between them in her memories.

"Flowers." He repeated, seemingly more to himself than to her as a short chuckled escaped him. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Even as you are, my grim little labyrinth keeper, I suppose you're still a woman most of all."

Seemingly pleased with her answer, though Ariadne wasn't quite sure what to make of his, Theseus looked away from her and called for Phyrrus. The large swarthy man didn't take long in joining his captain.

The two of them began to discuss the night’s festivities, announcing to them all that they were to dine at Thera’s castle that night. It was all said as casual as could be, as he let the man finish wrapping his arm back up.

For a moment, she wished dearly to go with them, to sit by his side.

But other than Asterion, she’d never shared a meal with any of the men in her family - for that was the way things were. For all that she was thrilled at the prospect of new sights and experiences to be found in Athens, even she was not naive enough to think she'd be allowed to dine in the presence of her husband and his companions.

Only about a dozen soldiers accompanied them up to the castle, brimming with excitement for the night of drinking. They weren't guards; as the king had offered them food for the night, it was unthinkable that they should come to any harm.

As they walked, Ariadne's mind wandered back to Crete, to how her not-father had never fed his Athenian tributes and the significance of that refusal.

' _You've already had your moment today - don't be selfish by dwelling…'_ Ariadne chastised herself, deciding to distract herself by musing upon the men that accompanied them.

Who were they, that Theseus would bring them to dine with a King? Were they Athenian nobility too? _Or perhaps mortal sons of gods - like Theseus?_ The semi-divine never seemed to be far from another; at that's how it seemed in the stories, anyway.

But whoever they were, she never got to learn their stories.

As soon as they arrived at the castle, Ariadne and the others were presented as the proof of Theseus’s heroism. Quickly fawned over and examined before the women were separated into their own room, and the men went to drink, recline, and eat together.

To feast upon the food Thera provided, while they in turn provided stories and good company. Supposedly.

Ariadne's blood chilled at the thought of finding any good company as her brother’s death was recounted for the pleasure of an eager bloodthirsty crowd. As she realised those were the only stories that would be filling the men's mouths in their bout of drinking tonight.

Ariadne sat crossed legged atop the reclining couch she was to occupy, watching all the women and girls around her that laid down. Graceful as they looked, Ariadne had to admit that she wasn’t quite sure how she was to be expected to eat in such a way without getting crumbs all down her front.

So she chose to suffer the curious stares at her strange posture, rather than to embarrass herself with her handling of food. In a way, it reminded her of a simpler time. One where she thought herself happy, though not without her own trouble as the-often-stared-at labyrinth mistress.

Interacting with strangers always felt like choosing between the lesser of two obvious examples of her oddity, as people’s eyes always seemed to follow her movements, scrutinizing her.

Only now instead of acrid fear, it was with simple inquisitiveness, though still as fuelled by their knowledge of her morbid occupation as it ever was. Only now she was a helper of a hero, rather than that of a monster.

The Queen of Thera was a round woman who received them generously, if not necessarily kindly. After all, the food was well enough, with large piles of little charred fishes, soft bread and cheese that was fresh and salty.

What pricked upon Ariadne's patience, however, was a scant cutting word or two with doubled meanings. All of them carefully chosen, not quite close enough for her to seem a poor hostess, but obvious in their probing in her search for their reactions. Just on the tip of conversational as she barely addressed the Athenian youths, far more curious about her fellow island royalty.

“My regards to your parents. ”

The mad king was dead and their queen was too, as far as she was to know, anyway. When Phaedra had feigned surprise, asking if the Theran king had not informed her of what had happened, there were token expressions of surprise and melodramatic sadness from Thera’s queen in return before she moved on to comment more invasively _polite_ observations.

“My, but it is unusual for such young precious women to be so far from your family.”

The great city of Knossos with its daughters taken, cursed and living up to its reputation.

“Theseus had done quite the boon for your home.”

Their _monster_ slain.

All of it so reductive, all so blithe, but never explicit. Unpleasant as it was, she knew now that she should be glad for the separation from the men.

If this was how their queen acted, Ariadne felt sick to her stomach to think of the conversation their king was having with Theseus. A good guest told stories, and surely Theseus had the grandest story of all to tell.

They would all revel in the spectacle of it.

No polite skirting around when it came to discussing what had transpired, as every single point of impact was explained in gorey detail, until the moment of her brother’s death. For until now, no one had ever survived her labyrinth, and it seemed the people were hungry to find the truth of it all.

No rumour would be able to accurately describe the depth of her poor brother, no story able to communicate how helpless he was to his fate of distasteful violence by way of birth.

Theseus was the only one who lived to tell the tale - would he tell them of what Asterion wished for, and how she helped rather than betrayed her brother? Would he speak of how Asterion's sole ambition in life was a worthy death? Ariadne thought not - not when it so disrupted the narrative those people thirsted for.

A deep unsettling fixed itself in her stomach as she began to wonder, what was the story Theseus told that night?

𐄑𐄈

_the guilty party_

  
  
  
  


“I must admit, when your ship appeared with black sails, I was quite surprised to see you here again.”

It was Theseus’s second meeting with Kerasos, King of Thera, and he found he liked the man little more than he had upon his first impression.

“We had little time to change them, for how fast we were fleeing the city.” Of course, now that they had reached Thera they still sat unchanged - and now that night had fallen they would have to wait again until the next day.

It was simple vanity to change them now, when his men needed water and sleep more than anything else, for their evening had been just as sleepless as his.

It had been a simple decision, he owed it to his men, after they had rowed long and hard throughout the afternoon impossibly fast, more than even he could have expected from even a veteran crew. To be blessed as they were was no light boon from his patroness, but such things still took a toll upon mortal bodies.

They deserved to spend time tending to their own needs, rather than changing perfectly functional sails, macabre as they were.

“I’d thank you again, cousin, for being such a gracious host.” Theseus gave a small dip of a bow, perhaps a little too high for a man who was only a prince, and not yet a king. But for a man who had fought and triumphed in an impossible deed, in front of a man who had not? It felt appropriate.

Time passed quickly, as for a while they spoke only touching the perimeter of the story that all of Thera’s noblemen had gathered in the castle to hear straight from the hero’s lips.

But it wasn't quite time for that yet.

Tradition and manners dictated that they wait until after the food for Theseus to truly begin his storytelling, but that didn’t bar him from asking questions of their king. Especially since Kerasos was a well of petty information when it came to speaking of the late Minos and his family.

“My bride, Ariadne, what can you tell me of her? I must admit, I’ve heard little of her compared to the other princesses of Knossos.”

Apparently as unaware of Ariadne as Theseus, Kerasos did at least possess precious knowledge of the culture out here in the Aegean - which Theseus lacked - and therefore had a few morsels to offer as to what might have been the case.

“I suppose it’s a rather archaic tradition. Old Aegean ways from before we knew the sky as our Lord, when gods-fearing men would offer their daughters to the old flower goddess - instead of to a husband. Girls that would be priestesses, and gave peace to those who were in need.” The king took a deep drink from his shallow cup, as he seemed to draw a theatrical air upon himself. “And sometimes death.”

The old man was grandstanding, of that Theseus was positive. It seemed that Kerasos's old ego was unable to withstand a night without somehow redirecting the attention upon himself.

“How so?”

“Poppies.” The king smiled the grin of a man familiar with the numbing sensation, with blackened teeth to prove it. “Bit of a cruel joke by Minos, I imagine. Instead of a peaceful death that you barely feel, she brings them to a monster that rips them limb from limb.”

The king shrugged. “Such are things in Knossos I suppose - I’d think his willingness to waste a daughter on such games should be the least of his madness.”

Steaming plates of fish and fresh hot bread arrived with honeyed cakes and dried nuts that followed soon after, to accompany the wine that started to flow.

It was time for them to pay their tribute. To quench their thirst for his story of blood, as they had provided food and drink in turn to him and his men.

Thera’s nobility were treated to privilege of being first to hear how he bested the twisting shadows that festered in the labyrinth, and of its mistress who provided him with the tools of his success. In this version she was a lovestruck and in love with him from first sight, rather than a nervous and hesitant accomplice to her brother.

Nobody questioned it.

When he unwound the shining spool of thread and brandished the sword - they gasped. He let them gaze upon the tuft of creamy white hair that was cut from the minotaur himself, drawn out from a pouch around his neck - one that lay against his chest.

Ever careful not to let his affection bleed through, he told them in reserved detail about the bull’s appearance. 

Even as the words spilled out of him as neutral and objective as he could ever be, Theseus worried that he might have let too much of himself through, always doubting himself.

“I’ve always wondered about the monster that Minos kept locked away - but to hear you talk of it now? What a wretched thing!” Kerasos looked up at Theseus as he spoke, reclined back upon his chair now, deep in his chalice.

Theseus understood the comfort of a position, but it seemed to him quite a vulnerable pose. And more than that, it didn't feel dignified to speak out his boasts from a couch.

Theseus strode around the room powerfully as he recounted the night before, speaking of the labyrinth - of its prisoner. Of course, out loud he’d said _monster_ rather than prisoner. The fearless Asterion was branded as a hideous monster before his eyes - but he did nothing to correct the giddy spectators.

What could Theseus do, other than say nothing? What was he to say? That his eyes were full like the bright banding of stars that filled the sky at night?

There was but one bare moment, where he had dared to speak of the bull’s prowess in battle.

“He fought with weapons - not with his hands.” No, the hands came later, didn't they? Later - when Asterion had removed his garments to pankrate. So purely unaware of what lay within him. “At one point a spear - but you should have seen the way his labrys _sung_.”

“Oh, you’re so humorous above your many other accomplishments. To think! A raging beast wielding weapons - and a women’s axe above all.”

These Aegeans seemed to have the strangest ideas, letting their women wield axes and administer death by poppy.

From the corner of his vision, he saw Phyrrus start to rise from his chair. Coming to alertness as he noticed the tenseness building in the prince’s body.

Too late.

“Quite.” Theseus blinked a dead eyed reprisal at Kerasos. “I’m sure my lord father appreciates the lovely comments which you pay his champions.”

The smile he flashed to the Theran king was just a step short of dangerous. “After all, you must be even braver than I to attract his ire, with all that you know of his spiteful nature.”

Kerasos sniggered drunkenly, his mouth small and curling on one side, as if ready to burst out in laughter. “You speak of your father Aegeus? What champions does he have? Gods know you’re the closest he’s ever managed to dredge up for a son.”

Had the man’s mind rotted out from his poppy numbness, to question his paternity so openly? This conquest - _this victory was supposed to change things_. Perhaps it did, for Theseus no longer felt it necessary to suffer such indignities laid at his feet time and time again.

If people didn't believe in his greatness now, they never would.

“My divine father.” Poseidon - he stopped short of truly invoking his name. It was he who had enthralled Theseus's father for one fateful night in Troezen with his mother, drunk and wading to the island of Sphairia. In a way, he supposed that one could say his father had created Asterion in a similar fashion - only overtaking Pasiphae's will with a charm, rather inhabiting her personally as Aegeus had been.

(Created for him, perhaps?)

Theseus had never questioned the idea of his dual paternity, not when he could almost feel the ocean and rhythm of the winds and currents when he was the helm of his ship.

Theseus swirled the wine in his cup, watching the lees tumbling around the bottom. “In a way, I suppose the bull was made for me. Made to be my opponent - I’ll not see him slandered when he tested me so.”

He knew they could all see the wounds that were dressed along his side, and the many little scars that dotted his body. Badges of honour, each one.

Unlike the soft old king in front of him, his skin smooth and unmarked and his teeth black with opium smoke. What pains did he have to soothe?

“Oh please.” Kerasos said dismissively - though Theseus could see the way his confidence didn’t quite meet his eyes. “The way you speak of this thing, you’d think you thought this beast was capable of some cunning. As if you thought him a man. Next you’ll tell me he’s a wonderful conversationalist - perhaps I should have had him here for dinner had your fortunes been reversed.”

The guests watched, silent and awkward, but for one Theran noble who managed the beginning of a guffaw before meeting Phyrrus's flinty gaze and stormy features that all but dared him to keep laughing.

“Unlike yourself, he was a man of few words. Colour me impressed to see you so have so much to add when it comes to the art of combat.” Kerasos was full of hot air and empty of action to back it up. Theseus had heard of how Thera’s king was too cowardly to take a side in the war that waged between the Aegeans and Athenian navy. It was far worse in the prince’s eyes to not take a side at all, then it was to be his adversary. “I was worried you would have little to say, being as unbloodied as you are. But then - your talent for listening to yourself speak does precede you."

Soft. The man was soft, and yet he pretended to speak of battle and weapons like he wouldn’t be terrified where Theseus was exhilarated were he to find himself on the other side of Asterion’s labrys.

A tenseness rose as the insult lay at Kerasos’s feet, the situation having devolved into something far from the ideal host-guest relationship that proper manners required.

It wasn’t long before they were collecting the women and leaving - with a dearth of good will between them.

-

Theseus felt a special sort of bitterness inside him as he thought of his actions that night, of how he had failed to bite his tongue.

Still unable to sleep, despite the aching of his eyes and the headache that thrummed a dull beat throughout his skull.

Too sensitive - he’d have to cool his feelings before he spoke in Athens. Such insistence on the honour of one who had taken so many from them... no number of extra hidden noble children would convince them to his side. His narrative would have to match the story that Athens had already accepted in their hearts, the one where Asterion was but a violent creature.

A mindless monster. (Who only wanted a proper death.)

No speaking of the man, who had the strength of character to deny him once the initial messy fog of violent attraction had faded enough to remember the world that existed outside of the two of them.

It was a rejection Theseus still felt, however strange that was. How could he be expected to remember Ariadne, when he had been so enraptured by Asterion? Surely the bull had no room to judge him, not when he had been so similarly overtaken.

Funny that now she was at the forefront of his mind - as the only one who would understand if he were to speak of the bull’s finer qualities.

With that in mind he sought her out, for she belonged to him, and as far as he was concerned, her memories would be his too. She who surely kept a million recollection of their fallen beloved, Asterion.

It wasn’t as if he was sleeping anyway.

The girls slept not far away, and the fire had only just burned to coals when Theseus set out. The night filled with the snores of men as the prince gave a quick nod of approval to one who kept watch, carving something too small for him to make out.

The moon made his walk easy, and crickets soon overtook the sounds of men as he traversed the plain.

Ariadne would make a wonderful outlet for all that had been stirred within him during his feast with Kerasos. He remembered the way she had practically jumped into his arms when he’d woken her upon reaching the island, the way she’d easily pressed her lips to his.

It hadn’t been the time for such things, not when there was still so much to be done that day. He had been so tired, and there had still been so much to do for the day.

If Ariadne had truly warmed into seeking his touch, then she was lucky he was a rather sleepless man. She would serve a perfect distraction to these horrid feelings, first with her body - then later with the sweet memories she held of Asterion. Theseus was a strange and conflicted man, eager as he was to consume them from her mind, even as he steeled himself to condemn the poor man in front of the masses.

How much sleep he had gotten since this ordeal had started?

The night before they’d sailed to Knossos, the excitement in his body had allowed him only a few hours - and since then he’d had nothing but a short nap in tiny castle courtyard that Phyrrus had found, insisting that he take over supervising the men who moved the supplies of water as the prince rested.

He would have estimated he’d caught half a night’s sleep over the span of these last three days, and yet now that it was finally time to sleep, he simply couldn’t.

The sheer adrenaline that had been racing through his veins was partly to blame, but Theseus never found himself one easy to fall to bed, even on peaceful days.

He found the sisters sleeping together, down on the grass plains and open to evening air and the stars. It was a warm evening, deep in the summer as they were, but Ariadne was wrapped in a himation as if she were freezing. Drawn around herself like a blanket, as she laid her head upon a few pieces of coveted extra bedding that had been kept on the ship.

For a moment, Theseus watched the two of them. Ariadne with twisting unease, as Phaedra slept soundly beside her only an arms length away. He felt his loins stir at the thought of just taking Ariadne right there and then, forcing Ariadne to keep herself quiet lest she wake all around them.

She was facing him now, presenting that worried pout he thought so beautiful. He had almost missed it in favour of the affectionate and curious looks she’d shot at him throughout the day. But what reason did he have to complain, when she was playing her part so well?

It seemed that she too was unable to find sleep despite the relative quiet of this part of the camp, since she had dozed for so long earlier on the ship - he saw now that it had left her restless.

As he approached, he noticed that she stilled - and he caught his breath.

A guise of pretended sleep fell over her as she heard his footsteps nearing. He wondered if she heard his shallow controlled breaths as he stood over her, if not the rustling of the grass as he knelt. Yet her eyes stayed closed - surely she knew that none among his men would dare to touch her?

Only him.

But a part of Theseus delighted in the idea that she thought him a stranger. The frantic patter of her heartbeat was so enticingly present underneath his fingers, and when he reached out to touch the soft skin of her neck - she finally opened her eyes.

As he felt her start to jerk in surprise, he whispered in her ear. “Be still, my love.”

Theseus pressed a single finger pressed to his lips, letting it linger and drag as he wished to do to her full bottom lip at that moment. Ariadne was fixated by him, and he observed a heavy fluttering of her eyelids before she nodded.

Theseus wondered what sort of man she saw above her then, looking down at her so intently. He knew how hungry he must look, despite his soft words, and he was. The way she looked back up at him then, it told him all he needed to know.

He wondered what sort of thoughts raced through her dainty little head as she felt his hand move to other more sensitive and feverish areas. Ariadne swallowed hard as she looked to Phaedra, who had rolled away from her, for whom sleep had seemed to come so easily. Theseus thought that the girl must be frantic within her psyche, frightfully wondering whether her sister would notice the way she trembled as Theseus circled a lone finger around a nipple and calling it to attention.

The question seemed so innocent, despite the very indecent things he was doing to her body.

“Would you like to come for a walk, my love?”

𐄑𐄉

_a wounded gull_

  
  
  
  


The ceilings were high, domed at the top in a way that he didn’t quite recognize. An ever-present clicking filled the space, as a long tapestry was shuffled across the hall. On one end, a strange mechanical loom was endlessly placing thread. It was the story of carefully tended efforts - a shining record of careful and meticulous planning.

A soft belaboured squealing noise interrupted the clicking momentarily, as talons ripped from a gull. The tiny owl finally let go of him, letting him thud upon the cold stone floor bloodied with broken feathers sticking out hither and thither.

The godly gull considered the loom, thinking of how he had seen it once before - when Athena had invited him here to ask his opinion on a particularly abstract scene it had produced. It was as deadly accurate as could be - and he had always wondered what price she had paid to obtain such a device.

Her welcome had been much warmer then - and their relationship _typically_ wasn’t so fraught.

Though less spectacular than the art of prophecy, as it only could see what was already happening, in many ways the loom was far more practical in its applications. After all, the mind and mouth could misinterpret, even those of ever-watchful Helios.

It was Athena to a tee. Not that she didn’t keep an eye on prophecies too - everyone seemed to be obsessed with such things on Olympos.

To be bound by such things seemed unthinkable to him. As much as he loved the crones in his camp? He wasn’t going to let three chthonic old biddies push him around - even if he was destined to fail by default in such defiance.

Tired of his unfocused gaze, his sister commanded attention with a single harsh and disapproving ‘ _tsk_ ’ upon her teeth.

He looked up and saw dark steel blue hair piled high atop a stern face. Everything about her held a sort of understated regality, even down to her garments’ muted tones which let the natural majesty of her features stand out against them. The silver that she adorned herself with jingled lightly as she idly handled a spear.

Most of his family tended to prefer gold adornments, himself included. But much like the understated tastefulness of her dress, it suited Athena.

“I would ask that you should change that foolish form of yours, brother. It’s not befitting of you.”

Ugh.

In a flash, the long-limbed and dark haired Dionysus appeared in place of the bird - complete with oozing wounds that matched where talons had ripped through avian flesh.The taste of wine was heavy in his mouth as he coughed up a bit of ichor, and the wounds on his body started to close.

His hand, however, wasn’t quite behaving - the one he had reached out to Ariadne's thread with. Something was wrong, and he had a feeling that pain should have been the _least_ to worry about.

Shoving it into his clothing in order to avoid his sister’s perceptive eyes, he could feel tiny feathers that hadn’t quite receded into human pores ruffling against the red and blues of Eupraxia’s peplos - which he still wore. Surely there were more characteristic things he could have changed into, but it was given out of his friend's kind heart, and therefore more than a fine outfit to meet the great Lady Athena in.

Not that she cared, more interested as she was in staring fear straight into him as he refused to meet her gaze.

“You were wearing his face.”

While that was factually true, Dionysus categorically denied any sort of illicit behaviour on his part. If anything he was doing her a favour - all while doing himself one too.

But more importantly-

“Woah, woah, woah - hey there Athena! Long time no see! How long has it been - the Panathenaia last year? How about a drink―”

In an instant a chalice filled with nectar appeared in his hand, outstretched to Athena. It was a pretty long shot, but he’d dissolved a couple hundred fights at parties with this same easy charm - he owed it to himself to at least try.

“I’m in no mood for these games, brother.”

“Ah - more for me then, I suppose.” He was feeling rather parched after all that flying, even if his divine brow refused to sweat and show the force of his effort.

“I want you to explain." His sister let the space between this and her next words drag on, he supposed in order to draw attention to the papable disappointment she exuded. She really was their father’s daughter - more so than any of his brothers were his sons in a way. "In your own words, what it is I have witnessed."

The owl whose talons had been so securely buried in him only moments ago now happily preened on his sister’s shoulder. Looking far more dignified than bloodthirsty, now that he was no longer gull-sized - though the same could not be said for Athena herself.

"...what if I told you that you have the wrong god―"

“I thought we had an _understanding -_ and yet I find you with your hand up inside my hero’s bride-”

“Fingers.” He coughed, though he realised that the specifics probably weren’t quite important to Athena. But he had a reputation to uphold - Dionysus didn’t around shoving hands up inside people. Not unless they asked him too, and even then― “It’s more complicated than that!”

Athena looked unimpressed. “Everything is complicated with you, Dionysus.”

“Well, first of all, I was trying to do you favour 'cause everything I did aside - I’m sure you saw the same thing I did.”

“Mmmmm… and what did you see? How typical my brothers are - always thinking each woman they see is more justifiably seduced than the last." He could feel the weight of Athena’s disdain. “What is it that you saw in her that made you think her yours, hm?"

Ow, ow. Athena knew how to guilt just as effectively as any mother in the Hellas.

“I wasn't trying to seduce her! Or keep her!" Dionysus exclaimed, heat creeping up the back of his neck and up his cheeks. He knew it looked bad - honestly even in context it wasn't that great a look. "I’m talking about the thread she’s all wrapped up in. I was just trying to fix that - which only helps you if you just stopped to think about it!”

“Help me?” She shook her head, exasperated. " _Thread_? Surely you're joking."

Dionysus saw her gesture towards the newest scene presented by the ever-clicking loom - suspended right above her desk, filled with parchments and papers. All, of course, of them annoyingly organized into neat bureaucratic stacks.

He saw Athena indicate a scene in the midst of being woven, only the edge of a curling vine visible against the swirling lines of a wave as it hit the beach.

Lacey eyelets formed in contrast against the tightly woven formations around them - an empty negative in the form of a woman.

Ariadne.

“Why does she look like that?” Her thread was missing. It seemed too much of a coincidence, too easy of an answer and yet-

“Exactly what I had wondered before I saw you - so why don't you tell me, brother? How am I to know you haven't conjured up a story or caused her little problem yourself, simply trying to fix your mistakes?"

She couldn't see it? Fuck. _Fuck_. He'd have done better doing nothing at all―

“I most certainly did not - and you can’t just go around blaming me for every little fertility-curse you see!” He ripped his hand from the folds of his peplos to point compellingly at Athena, forgetting for a moment about the tiny little bumps dotting his wrist, still taking their time to turn back completely to his strangely hairless pores.

“It was … so bright, so impossible to ignore - how could you not see it?” Closing his eyes, he realised there was nothing to gain from withholding information at this point. Not when he had no clue what was happening himself. “I could tell it was … hurting her. So I tried to help her - and then you found me."

"And how did you find her?"

"I was simply … around. You know me - can't let a suffering mortal walk by without trying to soothe their pain." His eyes avoided her as he spoke, nervous laughter betraying his unease.

“How interesting.” Her voice and the slight upturn in her intonation told Dionysus that something had occurred right then. Something crucial had been committed to Athena’s memory - and he felt a bit of dread cropping up in the back of his throat before she urged his mind along to look elsewhere than his own mistakes. 

"One wonders what made you so compelled to offer your aid, as out of the way as you were - your heart is soft enough for me to believe that - but I hardly believe your presence there as mere coincidence. _Especially_ when I can clearly see more of your wine-soaked influence upon my plans - though admittedly this can't be entirely blamed upon you.”

Further along he spotted what she meant, scattered dots of burgundy all about the scenes as if the tapestry were wine-touched. The empty spots that formed Ariadne being the only places it hadn’t seemed to soak in.

She was under a fig tree - embraced by a depiction of Theseus with a vegetal crown.

If one _squinted_ , one would realise they were not laurels, but _grapes_. 

Oops.

Similarly curious - if not even more so - was an earlier depiction of Theseus, he assumed, facing off against some sort of bull-man? But their weapons were discarded, and it didn’t seem to resemble any wrestling positions that he’d ever―

“Holy shit. That’s uh - wow.” Even Dionysus had to blush as he realised what he was looking at.

Whatever was between the two men, the tapestry had recorded a conflict as violent as it was intimate, something that seemed more at home in the bawdy retellings of legends or in the bottom of a drinking cup than in reality. He almost felt something stir within himself at the intensity of their stylized gaze - almost. “It’s beautiful, in a way. Reality in unreality.”

He wanted to touch the thread of Athena's tapestry as it shone, not unlike Ariadne’s. Would it too cause his skin to inflame, as if it brushed up against the most violent and noxious weed?

“Is that what we’ve taken to calling careless acts nowadays?” Athena raised a cool eyebrow at him as she considered the point of her spear. As if she wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted to drive it through him or not.

Looking at Athena, he spotted a single hair out of place in her normally impeccable coif. For such a thing to manifest - he could only imagine how vexed his sister must have been by the developments of late.

“The bull is her brother, by the way.” Hand pressed to her forehead, she sounded entirely drained at that moment. "If that will make you more likely to admit that which you are _clearly_ keeping from me."

Fuck. What business did the Fates have intertwining Eros and his dumb drunken escapades with the man Ariadne was ‘trying’ to love?

“That image was produced only last evening - and I am observant enough to see that someone else is involved.” And so it was, dripping with wine, an arrow pierced both warriors. Fletched showed just barely through a wound Theseus's gut, sunk deep into the bull-man's flesh behind it on the other side. “Now explain.”

“Well…” Dionysus took a large sip from his cup of nectar, glad at least for an action to busy his hands and mouth as he collected his thoughts.

So, he told her - most of it anyway.

It wasn’t a long story, and as far as Athena knew, he’d simply taken pity on a pretty woman in a poor situation - who just happened to be Eros’s latest suggestion of partner.

“So, then, you see - I realised that I had a chance to change everything!” Dionysus chirped, thinking perhaps he had won his sister over somewhere during his re-telling of the story - one which had perhaps been a little more sympathetic towards him than he rightfully deserved. “I still can, if you let me.”

Athena had already written off Eros’s drunken arrow as that bizarre twist of fate and seemed to be what made the most sense to her of all. But there was more for her to consider as she sat at her desk, fingers steepled and mouth set in a harsh line.

“Barren, you say?” Athena repeated, letting the truth of what the Fates had wrought upon the mortal girl filter through her thoughts. “Yes … you guessed correctly that I would look to remove her from my hero's path - especially after the lengths I already went to creating Theseus.”

Of course he knew that.

"I would normally be more subtle than such abandonment - especially since the fool invoked my name while proposing - but I'd rather not test misfortune by prolonging some inevitable fate."

“You really didn’t see it?” he asked, somewhat breathless.

“Not in my weaving, and it would seem not with my own two eyes either - it would seem that someone used a piece of thread from the Fates themselves to alter her. The only thing that I simply don’t understand, other than how they managed to deal with the Fates...” The barest hint of a smile hit her steel face. “Why go to such lengths, just to lose the girl who seems meant to cross your path, if not be your wife?”

“Freedom!” Dionysus declared proudly - far too fast out of his mouth to truly mean the words he spoke.

An empty platitude.

He scrambled to back it up. “I mean, you know me. I’m meant to be shared - and Ariadne? She’s so damn besotted with Theseus. I didn’t want to see that taken from her.”

“Even 'fixing' her barrenness as it were - surely you know that such feelings only stand to wither. More than that - surely you realise there’s no argument when it comes to prophecy.”

“I’m pretty sure he was being poetic when he talked about the stars, but go off.” He was tired of arguing with these people about his supposed destiny.

“Funny thing, brother.” Her face was full of intrigue, as if she had unraveled a great mystery and was watching him catch up. “Of all the people to be recipient of our cousin’s wayward arrow, it seems so utterly fated for it to strike Theseus of all people. Just as he was about to set eyes upon the bull too - her brother Asterion.”

“A-a coincidence if you ask me.” There was something about that name that discomfited him, as he felt his sister rounding in on a point.

“Tell me brother, if you know the answer - and I think you do. What does Asterion mean in the old Cretan dialect?”

Star-like.

A cold sweat broke out on Dionysus’s neck, as the realisation filtered through him.

Humming, Athena materialized a roll of parchment into her hands. “I doubt whoever wrapped her up in a thread was able to do it for _free_.”

The roll was ornate, with a few small shining charms hanging off of the leather ties that kept it shut. “Shall we check my fated list, so that we might find the price paid? Or at least the proper wording of Eros’s prophecy, so that we might understand what is expected of you?”

__

𐄑𐄊

_the dutiful one_

  
  
  
  


How many sensations could Ariadne count, as her walls quivered?

There was the feeling of the dirt underneath her knees, Theseus’s abdomen hot against her spine, and his lips at the nape of her neck.

Him inside her.

There was nowhere they had to be other than with each other - _how could they sleep when they could finally be doing this?_ Ariadne could easily imagine herself growing dependent to such things, such closeness of flesh and the softness that followed afterwards.

It was everything she had been offering under the fig tree - and which he had been so hesitant to give her. But now she saw why - for their patience made this moment all the more satisfying for how much closer she felt to the prince.

All around them in the night, the crickets sung their merry tunes as the two fucked in the field, between two distant lights of camp.

Fucked.

It was not a term that Ariadne would use lightly - or could even imagine herself saying out loud with ease. It was base, and vulgarities and oaths always felt uncomfortable for her. But in the comfort of her own mind, she could speak the truth. She could let herself flirt with such language, and express a part of herself that thrilled a bit at the use of vulgarity.

She thought she might like this intense burning fullness, though she was sure the two of them have yet to find a location actually appropriate for such things.

But maybe she liked that too.

As Theseus wound Ariadne’s dark mass of hair and twined it between his fingers - he pulled her up against him, and she could feel the beginnings of a beard growing on his face as he whispered in her ear.

“Is this what you're looking for, Ariadne?”

Gods. That wonderful tension again - she could feel it all across her scalp, no longer tender as it was that afternoon. When he’d so softly soothed it for her - but Ariadne wanted to see him! She wanted to look up at him boldly as they made love, even if it was in the dark. Ariadne wanted to hold this man until sleep took her, and wake up next to him - arms still around her.

But this was good enough.

“ _Yes._ ”

Every stroke of his thickness inside her convinced her of a solemn fact: this was what it was like for Theseus to take his time with her. To have both the gentle teasing man who’d let her largely stroke her own release on top of him during the day - and this overcoming of all her senses as he took her at night.

Perhaps Ariadne could get used to this?

Once they’d gotten further away from the camp, Theseus had been unable to restrain himself - not in the mood for her funny whispered comments about the songs of crickets.

There was something wonderful to her about getting swept away in his need as he possessed her, and letting her desire become his.

Before he’d entered her, she’d shuddered under his fingers and their long strokes of her sex, relentless and without any hint of the teasing touches he’d given her earlier in the day. There was no patience in this man as he made short work of her slit within a matter of minutes, and expertly took advantage of the little button he’d cared to notice as being oh-so-sensitive more than once.

He managed to refrain from telling her a third time - though Ariadne wonders what she would have said to him, given the opportunity.

In the daytime, Ariadne imagined she had felt cheeky and fun in her response. But in the night, with this Theseus - she wasn’t sure she could have managed a reply; admitting that he had managed to make her like this every time was simply too much.

At least she didn’t feel nearly so drunk this time - even if she still felt like Theseus seemed to erode a little part of her away with every little swipe of her nub with the head of his hard shaft every now and then. Waiting until he could hear her little whines before he pressed fingers hard and circular around her - and oh gods, it was everything she could think about.

But no - not everything, because it still followed her.

That scent.

Even though she’d left the flowers at the foot of her makeshift bed, she conjured up the memory that earthy sweet scent aroused within her.

A flush coated parts of her face it hadn’t yet reached, all the way up to the tips of her ears as he slipped inside her again, and left a finger strumming at her throbbing apex and finding its way underneath the flesh that hooded it from the directness of his fingers.

Softly petting the side of her bare little nub, she could practically feel the twist of a smirk against her skin as her knees shuddered together erratically beneath him. Satisfied.

“Such a good little bride Ariadne - very obedient.” Her vision was flashing under fluttering eyelids as he spoke into her ear, finally letting go of his tight grasp upon her hair before giving one last melancholic swipe along her seam up to the tip of her nub, feeling her spasming beneath him all the while. “You don’t know how to be a wife, do you? But we’ll fix that. You’re good with instructions aren’t you?”

She was. If there was anything she was good at, it was following what people told her, wasn’t it?

Her sense of time was utterly distorted by it all; Ariadne wasn’t sure how much of it passed between those whispered words and the sound of slick sliding flesh - and the occasional grunt behind her - and then warmth filling her again, almost comforting.

Ariadne found herself briefly wishing it would take root in her and prove everything she knew to be true about herself wrong. That she could be fixed, and happily bear as many children as he wished - and for some strange and terrifying reason there were parts inside her that _clenched_ at the thought.

Dazed, Ariadne caught her breath as she heard Theseus behind her, and the sounds of uncorking accompanied with the rustle of fabric - but it didn’t quite penetrate her brain. Not until she felt something rough and wet swiping across the back of her thighs - a cloth.

It was cold - but better than letting her have to try and scrub herself with the grass. It took away all the strange thoughts in her mind, and threw them to the wind.

As they laid next to each other not so much later, Ariadne having nestled herself in the crook of Theseus’s arm, she noticed a pensive look on his face.

The look Theseus gave her as she angled him to look at her - it said everything. He was surprised, perhaps questioning, but not unwelcome to the action.

“Won’t you open your heart to me?” She spoke, hope held tightly in her chest.

He was silent for a while then, considering his next words. But she was sure Theseus would say something - he had the look of a person who couldn’t quite keep down the questions bubbling inside him.

“Won’t you tell me about your brother?” 

Ariadne blinked, shocked for a second - she had expected anything but this.

“Asterion?” She hopes that he mistook the incredulity in her voice for shock - but he couldn't blame her - surely he couldn’t! Unease formed within her, right in the pit of her stomach just at the sound of this.

Did he expect for her to share stories of some horrid grotesqueness? Things that he might weave into his exhibition of those awful moments?

He was lucky when the moon decided to peek out at them, and offered her a clear look into those blue eyes of his, desaturated by the darkness of night as they were. What she saw there was something she never expected to find from him, not at this.

“I want to know what sort of man he was,” Theseus said _man_ with a softness in his gaze. Not a monster - Ariadne could hardly believe her ears.

“Truly?”

The hand that traced just behind her ear, playing with the little baby hairs along the edges of her hairline was gentle now, as opposed to the rough play enacted upon her just minutes ago.

She wasn’t sure what to say - what could she say that would be of interest to him?

“He was very honourable - and brave.” Brave enough to face his own death. “And very, very stubborn.”

Theseus laughed, a small chuckle - as if he might’ve understood. “Of course, I already knew that. Your husband is a clever man - or at least one with eyes that are willing to see. No, Ariadne, I want you to tell me of something surprising - something of the man that I could never imagine.”

Something that Theseus could never guess? There were so many things about Asterion she was sure the prince would never guess, and many more that she wouldn’t have - more than that, she was unsure of which one to pick.

“He was taught to fight by a woman!”

Surely he’d never guess that.

“Mm. Your mother’s handmaid, if I’m remembering correctly?”

Ariadne had to stop herself from choking on a breath, “How did you know that?”

“He told me - thought he was trying to mock me when he said it - and I wonder if I’m lucky I didn’t meet _that_ formidable woman instead.” He paused. “Maybe I’d be dead instead?”

Or burned into a pile of ashy slag. Ariadne swallowed, back in her mother’s hearth-room for but a second. Of course, the prince’s cocky tone told her well enough of how he still thought the idea a little ridiculous.

“I’ve seen her fight, actually - she’s really something to witness...” Ariadne didn’t know whether she could really trust what she had _seen_ of Tabitae, considering what she _hadn’t_ \- but there were a few things she could be sure about. “She was a Scythian!”

“Ah, well, I suppose that doesn’t surprise me now. I have two Massagetae archers in my employ, and they constantly whine about how our women are too weak. I suppose I can’t argue, if one of them trained your brother. Won’t you tell me of her another day? I fear we stray off topic - though I’m glad not too much of her has rubbed off on you.”

 _Right_. He wanted to hear about Asterion - and here she was going on about Tabitae.

‘ _What does that mean though - being glad more of Tabitae didn’t rub off on me?_ ’ Much as the thought bothered her, Ariadne dismissed it, thinking he must not understand, having never met the woman.

“I didn’t realise I’d have to think so hard for something you didn’t already know,” she told him as she searched her mind for something else, something that had nothing to do with the swinging of swords and Asterion’s warrior persona.

“When we were children … we used to play in the labyrinth. With a few other children - I … can’t imagine how long ago it was. Before the first ships arrived though, it must have been.” There was an amused look on Theseus’s face, a sort of lightness that encouraged her to continue. “He was a mischievous child, if you would believe it. Always putting grapes down where people sat - which was a waste of food! But I suppose there was nothing wrong with it, what with the way he was trying so hard to make Icarus laugh.”

“Icarus?”

“Just another child we used to play with - Asterion used to love to impress him.”

“I wasn’t aware the Minotaur was so well liked within the palace.”

“He wasn’t.” After all, Icarus only knew of them because of his father - because he knew the labyrinth was nothing truly to be feared for a boy like him. “But we grew up around him, so things were different.”

Ariadne frowned. “But that didn’t last very long.”

Lost in memories as she was, Ariadne had managed to lose sight of Theseus, despite him being right in front of her. Now that she focused upon him again, she saw his frown.

“But you know - before all that, I would sometimes place down a grape instead of him.” Only once or twice - she swore this fact up and down to Theseus, in order to make sure he was well aware she wasn’t normally such a sneak. “And Icarus would blame him, of course. Saying things like, ’Oh, this was my favourite chiton Asterion! How could you!’”

Only once or twice.

“Of course, no one ever suspected it was me.”

“How cruel.”

“Ah - I don’t know… that’s just the sort of thing one does with their siblings. Don’t you have any?”

“None that I grew up with.” The silence stretched between them, as Ariadne could not imagine such loneliness - having at least been surrounded by her siblings if nobody else. “I’m somewhat of a miracle child, you see. Your father knew it that day in the courtyard; my father is perhaps famed for his lack of children.”

“Oh.” It seemed such a simple question, and yet Ariadne flushed nonetheless - embarrassed for her prying questions. She should have remembered that - it had been one of the first things she would have ever learned about her future husband. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing - you’ll tell me more of him, won’t you?” he whispered, so hungry for stories about his vanquished mortal enemy - though she still thought it so strange to her that he would ask. That he had any business asking such things.

“About Asterion? I …” A part of Ariadne, some raw and sore part of her heart, had lain in wait - it took this moment to remind her that it didn’t matter how genuine his eyes looked, or how handsome his face, or square his jaw - not even the pretty flowers and touches he’d lavished upon her mattered.

It was too soon.

Too soon by far to talk so much of these things with anyone - much less with Theseus. But she looked at herself now, imagining her thoughts to be objective, and thought of how this must look. What her mother would think of her―

“I can’t.” She croaks eventually, finally able to find words to force out of her throat. But not the stories that he wants from her.

“Surely you can spare me something, can’t you, Ariadne?” There was something slippery to his words, but even as she found herself frowning - she could still clearly see the charming pout to his face illuminated by the moon.

Ariadne found herself slipping, even knowing how dangerously on the precipice of some horrible emotional catastrophe she was. Because she knew she could hold it in - for now anyway.

So she told him a story, even though she knew that once she was back in that little makeshift bed, laying next to Phaedra and alone as she can manage, she’d be crying fat ugly tears.

Laying in that field, in the dark and with only the moon to witness her and Theseus laying there in the grass, Ariadne told him of how her brother, most impossibly of all, wished he could have been a hero.

-

𐄑𐄋

_the faithful servant_

  
  
  
  


They were all gathered on the ship that morning - right as dawn broke. They were just about to break the water to head for Naxos when he heard it first.

A hissing metal whisper, meant only for him. A call he had to follow, no matter how ready his men, or how hazy his head from lack of sleep. Sleep that refused to come to him, much as he would have loved to find it once he closed his eyes.

But there he was down on the beach, and away from his men. He had hidden himself behind a large boulder in order to conceal their watching eyes from Athena’s divine presence - and he sat on his knees, deep in a bow. Theseus was proud enough not to touch his forehead to the ground, at least. After all, was he not her cousin, a son of Poseidon? A victorious one at that.

In front of him a shining gorgon stared, screaming on his shield. Theseus couldn’t quite be sure if the sleep deprivation was finally getting to him or if it were true magic, but he swore he could see the scales of the gorgon’s serpent locks moving slowly and undulating.

“Theseus.” Athena sounded displeased with him - _why_ he couldn’t imagine. Unless she knew more about his _victory_ than he realised - and the normally confident prince flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “Make sure you listen closely, for what I am about to tell you I need not bear the shame of saying twice.”

Then she told him - and Theseus thought he might choke.

“You want me to _what_?”

It was said that Crete was cursed at times, the royal family of Knossos most of all. It was at this moment that Theseus now, of all times, could not help but think it true.

The thing his Lady asks of him is unthinkable, and he could hardly believe his ears. Just to leave her there, on the far side of Naxos? Inside him there was largely a proprietary outrage at what she asked - but so too was there a consideration towards her safety.

A fully kitted out soldier with a lay of the land might expect to reach the town on the other side in a few days.

But a woman?

“Must I make it so utterly clear? You will abandon the woman you’ve claimed as your wife tomorrow. You will sail away, and you will tell the people of Athens that I willed this.”

“She’ll die if I leave here alone out there - I don’t understand why―”

"I wasn't aware you'd suddenly grown a conscience when it came to leaving women; I'd have thought it second nature to you at this point."

Flustered for the moment at being called out so thoroughly by Athena, Theseus sputtered, "I don't generally make promises to those women."

“And so too should you have been similarly careful before invoking my name - this woman was never meant to be yours."

‘Then whose is she?’ The possessive question ripped its way into the prince’s mind and out of it in but a second. It does not matter who to him - because soft and enjoyable as Ariadne was, it wasn’t for her that this deed felt so sour in his mouth. It was the entire principle of the matter - of the promises he had made.

He was supposed to be able to fulfill Asterion’s dying wish, _as well_ as claiming his glory. It was supposed to be his crowning moment - he would become Theseus the hero and conqueror of Minos’s bull - the victorious Son of Athens who pulled the lives of eight abandoned Athenians, thought already consigned to Tartarus.

No longer.

He would become Theseus, the abandoner. An ungrateful sod who willfully discarded a helpless woman on the way home. One who had given him everything he needed for success.

Clutching around his waist, he found the translucent spool hidden away at his side - he didn’t have to look or feel to know whose sword was at his side.

More than anything, it feels like a punishment upon him.

“I swore on your name to take her as my bride. Everyone already knows of my intentions with Ariadne - I can’t do this.” He looked up then, at the shield. No vision of Athena met him, but he hoped she could see how the idea of such a thing tore him apart. “My legacy―"

“Legacy? Let me tell you something about legacy, little godling; let me tell you of how insignificant you are. _Hundreds of years_ I have spent nurturing my bond to that city you walked into not more than two years ago. Years that I spent managing the affairs of one king or another, and of those too who might ultimately depose them when they grow weak and corrupt. _I_ know more of legacy than you will ever know. You will leave the girl on Naxos, and if you fear your precious legacy to be tarnished, you may tell them that they question me by questioning you.”

The Lady Athena's resoluteness was all-encompassing as she spoke, and her speech put the fear of the goddess into Theseus. Yet - for all she could do to him, he knew there was a caveat in what she said.

Her power lay in what people believed of her, of what she represented - and more than anything they believed her to be just.

This was not just.

“I won’t.”

A lie, because Theseus found himself quite willing to trade it all away and take the blame upon himself alone - for a price. One thing that he can give to the bull, even if he must fail in what was truly asked of him.

Asterion wanted to be a _hero_? Theseus could give him that, or at least he could try.

“You won’t?” Her voice was almost emotionless, but for a tinge of incredulity. He could almost see the gargantuan cold-faced statue of her that sat on Athens’s highest hill, looking down at him sternly. He imagined that look transformed into cold fury, as she realised he needed more to complete this deed than his Lady’s blessings.

He knew he was risking so much for this, angering her―

More than that, he might be trading away Ariadne and everything she represented, letting go of all her sweet little stories of Asterion that he hungered for - but that paled in comparison to the things he could gain.

It was a sort of fucked up absolution, if he only dared. Something that could put this pit of guilt to rest - he could say whatever the hell he wanted about the man and feel none the worse, as long as he could secure this.

Theseus knew he had no right - that it was foolish to make demands of a goddess - but the bull had begged him, gasping there on that great stone floor. If he had to deny him, he owed him this at least.

“Not without a deal.” He swallowed then, unsure if he should continue - but he was far too giddy and high on his own cleverness to stop now.

“A deal?” The disembodied voice spoke out, rich with displeasure. Distantly, incredibly so, an unfamiliar voice rose out. ' _You hear that? The mortal wants to make a deal with you!_ ’ accompanied by incredulous laughter (followed by a clattering, and then a louder shout of ‘ _Hey! My nectar!_ ’).

Masculine, sonorous - it was in all essence god-like. Theseus felt the broken volcanic rock cut into his fingers as he clenched his fists into the beach beneath him, a tightness building in him at the sound of that voice.

‘ _Is that him?_ ’ He thought that it must be - and Theseus wondered what had brought this to bear. When had been the moment that this _god_ had spotted his prize and wanted her? Why did he not just take her then, why now?

Surely, the god saw that Ariadne had already been claimed by him. Was this some punishment upon him, for falling prey to his body’s unfortunate wants?

“Do you know what I could do to you, even just from here? I could strike you blind, or take out your tongue for speaking that way. Perhaps I should.” Theseus was made aware of a sensation of a blade along his back as she spoke - as the goddess proved a point. “Willful little semi-divine conduit of will that you are, what makes you think that you have earned the right to negotiate with what I’ve seen you do? Convince me, Hero.“ The word was spoken with such vitriol. “Convince me why I shouldn’t wipe you from the face of Rhea’s good earth right now, and grant you favour when you couldn't even help yourself from laying with your bride's brother.”

Theseus swallowed - she knew. Of course she knew. How could he think she wouldn’t?

’ _Tread lightly, mortal soul_ ,’ Theseus thought, trying to figure out how to speak of his idea and not of the consequences he’d face if the goddess found it not to her liking. There would be only one chance for this.

Theseus finally laid his pretty little forehead upon the ground, fully prostrate as he spoke his wishes.

“My lady, I deserve all that and more. I’ve erred deeply, that much is clear. But if you'll allow me... it is him I wish to speak of.” The divine appreciated honesty, did they not? He refused to call Asterion a monster, even if he would be shamed and punished for what he’d done. That was his honesty. “Take Ariadne from me if you must, I only ask a boon for his sake.”

His eyes were to the ground, rocks digging into his forehead. The silence his Lady replied with told Theseus she wasn’t yet displeased with what he said, and he hurried to continue.

“I’ve … failed you, my Lady. I am no more your champion in my actions than the bull was a monster.” What surprised the prince is how good it felt to speak it out loud, even if he might meet his end only moments from then. If Athena were to unleash here godly wrath upon him and let him fall to his death, Theseus felt proud knowing he would have spoken the truth as it happened. “Whatever victory I had that day was only through the bull’s dying request for a proper fight, a fight worthy of a sort of greatness only told about in stories. He’s far more of a hero to his sister, than I. In death - I would have him claim that greatness”

Here it was, time to ask, time to lay his plan bare before Lady Athena and let him scorn him for his foolishness.

“Speak plainly, what would a dead ‘man’ want for greatness?”

‘ _Elysium,_ ’ Theseus thought, his heart beating a stuttering pace as he imagined the sight, long after they both had passed. To find life waiting after death, waiting in the arms of Asterion in that hallowed place. To see that man honored and surrounded by heroes he was never allowed to emulate - things that the bull could scarce only have dreamed of.

Certainly Ariadne couldn’t fault him, even if she cursed him - it mattered not. He could give her the precious comfort that would be a proper resting place for her - their - beloved Asterion.

“I want to see him judged as I would be in the afterlife. Not as a monster, but as the adversary of a great hero - a man just as great as I.” He swallowed. “For such a thing, I'm sure Ariadne would happily give herself up...”

“I am no underworld judge, godling.” Yet despite her statement, he heard an interest in her voice rather than condemnation. “It would be easier to render you immortal with my own ambrosia than it would be to sway Hades …”

He looked up then, only slightly, hoping the goddess was watching - that she could see the determination that was alive within his eyes, sparking.

“All I would ask is that you try, my Lady.” More truth - it poured out of him now freely. “I have no affection for Ariadne - but I would see her brother’s wishes honoured. I have been told that I _cannot -_ Asterion has faced injustice his whole life, and now too in death with this betrayal.”

Asterion deserved to be judged as more than a monster - and even if no one were to know, this act would at least serve to fulfill any obligation Athena had to Ariadne, or to her family. It would make things right.

“Hmph.” It wasn’t a no.

”I would earn you greatness unquestioningly time and time again, knowing this matter was laid to rest - if only you would let me, Goddess. You are truly the only one I could ever ask to complete such a task, and have any faith it might be possible.”

That was all that he could say - she would have to make her decision now, and it would be _so_ easy for her to simply cast him into the pits of Hades prematurely if she disliked his proposal.

“If I did not know how much potential for greatness lay within you, I would not have ever appeared to you on the day you laid eyes upon this very shield.

“Yet - you are haughty, prince. Far too much so - and yet … I find myself wanting to entertain this.” As she spoke, her voice hardened, more than ever before as she laid down her own obligations from her champion. “In exchange for your broken oath - I shall take it into consideration. But I shall never see you question me again, Theseus. For the rest of your days, I expect you to never question my will again.”

 _Success_.

-

Despite everything, despite the fact that for all intents and purposes he had yet again achieved something _impossible_ \- when Theseus laid next to Ariadne that night, he couldn’t help but look at her with a sort of resentment that ate at his insides.

He had gotten all that he wanted that night, even if it meant losing her - and it wasn’t even losing _her_ specifically that rankled, but the idea of being forced to give up what rightfully belonged to him. For all that he had been compelled by the goddess, and for all that he had gained, _she was supposed to be his_.

Someone meant to be under his protection. 

It had been hard to look at her as they sailed - and even as they made camp he had avoided her presence and ignored any attempts made by her to offer affection. He’d gotten what he wanted, but it did nothing to make parting with his prize any easier.

Despite her sweetness, he couldn’t imagine what she held in particular that would make a god stoop down to take his seconds to begin with.

Laying with her he could understand, it was accepted that they sometimes just _did_ that - but to demand her to be his? _When had she even had the time to attract the eye of such a being?_ Not that it seemed to take very long when gods were involved - women always seemed to be _ever_ so easily enticed by such beautiful impossible creatures as the divine.

The thoughts were crude, but it mattered not to Theseus. It was the truth, was it not?

Not entirely clueless, Ariadne had noticed him distancing himself from her throughout the day as this truth penetrated his psyche - and she was ultimately so starved for his attention that she’d jumped at the opportunity to spend time with him. He had come to her just as the evening began, offering to share the treasures of the local festivities on Naxos with her, and her alone.

It was a trap.

Several skins of wine at their feet as he laid next to her - some of his men having rowed out to the other side of Naxos in order to procure them from the local festivals. Theseus had told her they would camp and feast and celebrate on their own that night.

A veil, so that he might get his _(not his_ ) Ariadne so drunk into a stupor that she’d not hear them leaving the shores upon the dawn.

Theseus would simply have to entertain her for one more night and attempt to recapture his old enthusiasm before it was all over. Then it would be - what? Only several long decades of life before he’d get to witness the fruits of his deal with Athena?

There was a part of him that knew it would be worth it, once he saw Asterion in the fields of Elysium. But it was hard to visualise then, and it was an unfortunate consequence of the deal that he would only know whether he had succeeded or not once he was dead.

“Theseus.” Ariadne touched a hand to his cheek again, interrupting his thoughts. It was a repeat of an action she’d attempted upon him the night before in order to convince him to open up. Of course, this time it was shaky, although more certain in its grip for her intoxication. “I’m not quite sure what changed between us.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

Ariadne frowned, but ultimately decided to drop it there - but not after another heartfelt attempt at optimism. She shot him a sweet naive little smile, and told him, “Whatever I did wrong - I’ll do better tomorrow. We’ll wake up and everything will be better, I’m sure of it.”

Gods, it was almost too much for him for her to be like this - so intense were her attempts to navigate their relationship properly, and her earnestness in doing so. He could have her now one last time, and take advantage of that very same attitude.

He had enjoyed her before, despite his lack of true passion or affection - but she truly held nothing for him now, knowing what he did. Knowing she wasn’t _his_ anymore.

Phaedra would be far less trusting of him, but perhaps that was for the best. It wasn’t as if Ariadne was going to stay this way forever - she too would inevitably lose her naive attitude about the world, and harden into someone as cold as his father’s consort.

Thinking about Ariadne further, he supposed that her form, her face, her manner... all of them were fine enough, he’d found nothing wanting so far. But she was nothing exceptional, aside from her rather pleasant and willing demeanor. Even with that, those best attributes only stood to fade with time. There was nothing about her that stirred him so inherently like the bull, and she almost certainly was nothing irreplaceable.

There were two princesses in his possession, after all.

Tomorrow, he’d still have one - even if sleep still evaded him. For the resentment he felt, for the guilt, and for the general _awfulness_ of waiting for his reward - Theseus felt that a full night’s sleep would be a long time coming.

-

𐄑𐄌

_a fermenting mind_

  
  
  
  


It was a slow evening, prowling around the bushland of Naxos - just around the edge of Theseus’s camp. Aware all the while of how that prince was plying her with wine _from his very festivals_ \- all so he wouldn’t have to see her devastated face as he left.

A dark mood was manifesting itself just on the edges of Dionysus’s perception, as he found himself feeling rather overcome with the ramifications of prophecy. A prophecy that _hadn’t even mentioned marriage_ \- though there were some clear implications that he couldn’t blame Eros for mistaking. Implications that worried the _fuck_ out of him - but then there were other aspects that troubled his heart at this moment.

Had he really thought to just leave Ariadne with him? To be as horribly knee-jerk and impulsive as he was, he’d barely cared to notice any of this - so happy he was to be rid of any trouble she might give him.

All for what?

Telling himself it was for her - when it was all just to avoid a bit of what would likely only be discomfort on his part. It seemed so natural to want to fight the Fates on this, to think them awful for imposing such circumstances upon them.

But their actions always seemed to have rhyme, even if he could not reason them out - and Dionysus was starting to see the rhythm of this poem, clear as day.

He tugged at the ends of his hair, disgusted at what he’d done. “I caused this.”

“Oh - don’t be so melodramatic. I’m sure fate would have spun a way to put her in your path no matter what. Can I trust that you’ll take responsibility for her?“ Athena stood next to him, keeping him company as he had his meltdown.

Dionysus was _not_ having a very fun mental experience at that moment - he could feel the discontent swirling around inside him, threatening to escape. He was glad his sister was with him; he hated to be alone when he was like this. The consequences for one little slip up, one emotional outburst - such things often ended badly for mortals.

How many of his relatives had left thousands dead in their wake from what were, in essence, emotional outbursts? Many of them over what were only _perceived_ slights―

Dionysus didn’t want to be like that; he’d had quite enough of it already.

There were reasons that he kept himself surrounded with friends and followers most times - because they cared for him - and he in turn cared not to let himself go mad with divinity and invoke some awful wrath upon the earth and likely to afflict them as it was whoever displeased him.

Athena was actually fairly good company, when she wasn’t out for blood. They actually got _along_ more times than not - and despite their inherent differences, she stood by him as he frayed apart.

“I can’t fix this.”

“Fix who?” Athena sighed as she watched him fret. “Yourself? Surely you can’t mean her - you simply sought to put her on a different path. What makes you think it better? All this endless fiddling in order to prevent such an outcome - what do you fear, that the very sight of this girl on a boat has you wanting nothing to do with her?”

“It’s hard to explain - you honestly wouldn’t get it.”

“I thought you were sure that nothing would come of it?” Athena asked him - somewhat aware of the growing lack of attraction inside Dionysus, as he’d briefly explained the situation with Ariadne. “It’s not as if the prophecy explicitly mentions marriage either.”

It was an uncomfortable question for him - one that he really wasn’t quite ready to confront even within himself yet - and the particular wording of the prophecy had him _far_ more worried than the simple idea of being compelled to marry did.

There were a few things he hadn’t been entirely truthful with Eros with - or with himself. Maybe there were people he’d perhaps thought things were different with before.

The words he’d read in Athena’s book worried Dionysus, thinking he might convince himself that things were somehow different again.

That he would somehow forget that _none_ of those people were with him now - because they were fleeting, and forever was a long time for fleeting human emotions - or _worse,_ the endless cycle of watching them inevitably pass in front of him.

He ran a finger along the velvety surface of a grape leaf that lay above his ear. In a way, Ampelos had stayed longer than them all. Perhaps that was why the satyr burned strongest in his mind as he tried to let those memories fade in favour of when he’d been a different man.

_When he’d been Zagreus._

“What does a girl like that need, Dio? More walls? A husband who will keep her away and have to bear his children from another woman, and bring her sorrow?” He was shocked at her frank assessment of the prince.

“Is this the same Athena who turned a woman into a spider for daring to question how great and wonderful us gods and our deeds are?”

“I’ve had much time to think since then upon … such errors.” _Oh_ , just the barest tinge of a flush formed at the corners of Athena’s cheeks - but her tone and cadence betrayed none of it. “He laid with her beloved brother and murdered him. Extenuating circumstances aside, I am not unaware of the failings of my heroes. The concept of what we call great men often comes at a price, and it is often exacted from those around them rather than the men themselves - much as it keeps my granaries full and my city prosperous.”

 _Oh_ , that was actually a far more nuance take than he’d have ever expected from his sister. _Now if only she’d reconsider her position on slavery-_

Probably not the best time to be thinking about that.

“So what do you think I should do then? Marry her?” His arms crossed, unhappy that his sibling who was widely considered to be their brightest mind was on Eros’s side of all things. She! Athena, the eternal virgin maiden who didn’t take a lover as a point!

“I don’t need to ask you of anything to know the Fates plans will come true - but I _would_ ask that you take on the responsibility of Theseus’s request.”

His brow was heavy as he looked to his sister. “You’re kidding.”

“Consider it your price for wearing his face and seducing his future bride.” When she said it like that - it did sound pretty bad. On the surface, maybe it looked like―

’ _Yeah, no - we’re shit. We might as well have approached her wearing our own face, for all the good that’s done_.’

“More importantly, perhaps that was the reason the Fates brought you together if you’re set against courting her. _After all_ , I doubt Theseus would even be asking after her brother if it weren’t for your foolish escapades with Eros.”

Perhaps Athena had a point - but how was he going to pull an Underworld favour off? Maybe he visited the place a little more often than some of his relatives, given his circumstances. But it wasn’t like he could just walk into the office of Hades and demand whatever he wanted.

“Hi. My name’s Dionysus, your brother - god of wine, ecstasy, madness, theatre and a whole host of other things which are _mostly_ not death-related. How exactly do you expect me to manage that?”

“There’s always Persephone - don’t you two have much in common? Winter is still far away and she has a soft heart - and I’m told she has become quite the prolific drinker of wine in past years.” Dionysus wondered how much wine there was in the Underworld, and figured that no matter how much - there could always be more. “Besides - you’re an expert in chthonic slang, which you know I absolutely _despise_.”

Athena wasn’t the type to entertain the slang that many of the _somewhat_ younger gods employed, preferring to sound _dignified -_ while Dionysus was fairly sure he’d explode into some new dangerous and fun type of alcohol if he spoke so formally all the time.

They were the colourful nonsensical terms of phrase he enjoyed were, in fact, courtesy of the Underworld - and thus both figuratively and literally below Athena. It wasn’t an uncommon opinion of earthly and oceanic deities to look down on the Underworld - but most of the ‘younger’ gods were happy to appropriate it once Hermes in all his psychopomp-ery started slinging it around at every little party. (Parties that Dionysus had, of course, organised.)

“Our sister, right?” He’d actually never met her before - she was known for being a bit of a loner, and there was only ever time for _one_ person on his visits down under.

“ _Oh,_ no.” Athena noticed the rather surprised look on his face, and offered an explanation. “Our father loves to spread rumours. Particularly of who he’s sired - you would think he’d be happy enough with his already bountiful host of children that he need not add false ones. But alas!”

Huh.

Athena _was_ capable of joking, and cracking a mild joke at the old man’s expense at that! The spider really had done a number on her thinking. Strange as it was, _that_ was what truly helped him decide - because for all that he was upset with what she asked of him, for all that she had forced him to take responsibility - he was done fighting fate.

So he agreed to take up the cause of Ariadne’s brother, impossible as it seemed to be. He was done deferring what was clearly a responsibility to help Ariadne grow. To become someone fulfilled in a way she could never have as a woman in Athens - _marriage_ wouldn’t have to have anything to do with it.

He was fluidity - he was liquid - if there were tasks Dionysus was _fated_ to complete, he would accomplish them.

But it would be upon his terms.

-

Unfortunately, the idea that he was bringing her to better life did _not_ make Ariadne’s abandonment any more pleasant to watch.

When the sun finally started to peek over the horizon, Dionysus was made witness to what was surely one of the grandest dramas performed in his honour. Only he _wished_ it were but a work of fiction - rather than a rather stubborn example of life imitating art.

It was much worse watching it play out, knowing the awful and inevitable ending.

Dionysus spotted more than a couple men looking uneasily toward the strange little draped pavilion meant to block the sun from waking her up too early - and for her part, Ariadne slept deeply within the embrace of last night’s wine. 

_His_ embrace, and he was right beside her in it - so deep under his influence she was.

At least he’d make sure she wasn’t alone for it. Even if he hated that it was his very wine that had been used to deceive her, it meant he was right along with her for every step. Right beside her in spirit, though not yet in body.

The quiet of the morning was soon interrupted by a loud, furious voice piercing the early morning air - and the sleeping princess stirred not at all.

“Ariadne! _Ariadne! Wake up!_ ” A tall young woman shouted, desperation clear in her voice - Dionysus recognised her as Ariadne’s sister.

She stood not far away from where Ariadne slept, kept away by Theseus standing resolutely in front of her, and a strangely regretful though imposing looking man at her back.

“We’re leaving here whether she’s awake _or not_ \- would you _really_ rather her be awake for this experience?”

“You _ass!_ ” Although her name escaped his memory, she was puffed with such righteous indignation then that Dionysus had a feeling he’d have no trouble remembering this moment. “You’re made of shit, don’t you know? Not even human shit, no, you come from some honorless thing like - _like bird shit!_ ”

Theseus, naturally, showed no signs of guilt and addressed the man rather than the woman comparing him to shit. “You were supposed to take her to the ship, Phyrrus.”

“I was just gonna bring ‘er to see ‘er sister one last time, sir. That’s all she asked - you can’t fuckin’ blame ‘er for it, not when yer havin’ us do such cursed deeds!”

“Watch your mouth―” The prince began, but was shortly interrupted as Ariadne’s bold sister grabbed him by the drapery of his cape and held him tightly, enraged. While she wasn’t able to move him much, sturdy as the prince was, - she was tall enough to give him a fierce look straight in the eyes, and she wasn’t above scratching and kicking at his shins as she berated him. 

“ _Give it back_. Give it all back to her! Everything she gave you - you don’t deserve it, you _bastard!_ ”

It was only a moment that Dionysus saw the prince’s mask slip, a hateful vindictive look slipping into place momentarily as she made him confront his guilt.

“I suppose you’re right, princess. It _isn’t_ fair that you should lose your family like this, and yet I should keep my spoils. Yet the Lady Athena commands it. I’ll do right by Ariadne and leave her yarn behind, but I think I’ll spare her the sword.” A cruel and harsh look came over the prince’s face then. “Unless you _want_ the first thing she sees upon waking up to be a blade.”

The suggestion of what he implied was obvious and earned him another harsh attempted shove from the girl.

“Bring her back to the ship, Phyrrus - and get rid of the cats while you’re there. If dear Phaedra must lose her sister, and I must lose my bride and her treasures - then we _all_ shall lose something precious today, then so too shall our noble Athenian wards.”

Dionysus turned to Athena then, distress clearly shown on his face. She would be leaving soon - after everything was said and done, and making sure that Dionysus didn’t make any inadvisable and impulsive decisions in these final moments. The kinds of decisions that events such as these tended to inspire.

“You could tell him to stop, you could stop all of this if you wanted to,” he whispered sourly - but his heart wasn’t entirely in it anymore. He hated to take the choice from her - but trying to _love_ that man as she was would have only ended in sorrow.

 _No affection for her_. How could Theseus manage to have no affection for such a sweet girl? Even Dionysus felt _something_ for her - even if it was mostly just sorry for her.

“You know I cannot.” Her own mouth was set in a tight line as she watched the altercation play out, Phaedra escorted away by the large man and Theseus placing a small pouch at Ariadne’s feet. The Athenian children were _shocked_ as their little pets were ripped from the ship’s hold and left upon the shore.

At least the cats would prosper, Dionysus comforted himself numbly. Feral things that they were - it would be easy for them to adapt.

Dionysus wasn’t sure he quite agreed as he looked down from a rocky crag that was overtop the ill-fated sleeping girl. A girl who had no clue of what lay in wait for her when she woke up, and who had already been through too much despite having to endure more. But then, wasn’t that just the song of life? Constant descents and ascents, without enough time to appreciate or wallow in either?

Still, he wished hers were softer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna give a huuuuuuge shout out and thanks to Morgaine2005, who helped me edit this chapter, and is also just awesome in general!
> 
> If anyone wants to hit me up and peruse some art I have drawn, I got a Discord server right over [here](https://discord.gg/2cdDzPb).
> 
> Next chapter- _the fun begins_.


	6. INTERLUDE - pasiphae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pasiphae and Tabitae, reunited in divine flesh once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something a little different. might do a little editing to this in the future, add some footnotes. mostly just wanted to get it up for now.
> 
> scroll down for mobile viewing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoys this little comic I've made, following Pasiphae since her departure. I might do something like this every so often, with some different characters.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys! We're back to Dionysus and Ariadne next time, hopefully in a couple weeks.
> 
> For now, enjoy this little teaser image of some stuff I'll be including next chapter! Please, definitely tell me what you think about this, and if you'd like to see more of it in the future! :D
> 
> If anyone wants to hit me up and peruse some art I have drawn, I got a Discord server right over [here](https://discord.gg/2cdDzPb). I post updates on my art stuff there, including some in progress stuff sometimes.


	7. The One Where Dionysus Kicks The Bucket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariadne awakes upon the shores of Naxos, with no one to comfort her. Not even a certain vine god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peripeteia
> 
> per·i·pe·tei·a  
> /ˌpɛrəpɪˈtaɪ.ə/ 
> 
> noun, literary device  
> a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances or situation

𐄈𐄍

_an empty person_

  
  


The waves crashed and the samphire swayed with the breeze on that deceptively peaceful Naxian morning. The wild animals had returned, and seabirds had begun to pick at flats of sand, looking for stranded prey.

The tide was out, and the evidence of activity lay bare as a map of misdeeds.

Bonfires, the refuse of a night spent at the beach, and the deep groove of a beached trireme pushed back out to sea – to say nothing of the lightly snoring girl that had been left behind, unaware of the world around her.

But not for long.

As Ariande began to awaken, it was her ears she doubted first. Every morning in Theseus's care had been filled with a cacophony of chatter all around her, of oarsmen loudly anxious to get on the ship and begin their day of sailing.

But now all she heard was the crashing of waves and the call birds.

When Ariadne's eyes opened and she saw the emptiness around her? She doubted those too.

' _Oh- but Theseus wouldn't leave me alone._ '

But looking out onto the unsettlingly empty horizon, with not even a fluttering sail in sight? She thought she must still be dreaming – though her pounding head quickly put such fantasy to rest. Denial started to manifest. Little ideas that excused the total absence of people around her. Excuses of how Theseus was somehow going to come back, that he had only gone to fetch something.

A hope that this was a cruel test of faith from him. A measure of her devotion. As if all she had to do was stay here, be dutiful, and prove herself.

But such ideas only lasted an hour before she found reality sitting in front of her, inside a little leather pouch. The glittering thread that kept away the shadows, and guided her as a child walking alone and afraid.

She could barely look at it now.

Confronted by reality, Ariadne pressed to the ground with clasped hands, and did the only thing that made sense to her. Raw to the world, she prayed.

The Anemoi were the first that she prayed to, as she begged the winds to steer the prince’s ship back and force him to return.

But they must have been busy, if they were listening at all in the first place.

More names dropped from her lips as Ariadne desperately tried to think of any god that might take pity upon her. One who might spirit her away to Athens, and make Theseus keep his promises.

But none, it seemed, had time for her.

Ariadne almost beseeched the virgin goddesses out of habit, only to remember they were no longer her patrons. Not that she had much faith in Athena that morning.

So instead Ariadne called out a name that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable on her lips.

“Lady Hera? Highest of goddesses..." That sounded right. "I have been turned to ask your favour because I am but a foolish girl! A girl who has let herself be deceived by a faithless man. I ask that you... That you…”

Ariadne paused, considering what she even wanted.

She had no clue. Did she want to see Theseus again, knowing his affection was empty? Did she wish for him to hurt, knowing that all around him would likely suffer too?

Feeling empty of options, Ariadne wondered if she should call out to Ares instead. To say she had chosen wrong, and that he should take her away to her mother. At least he knew her face.

Her prayer was futile. Ariadne knew that. When had it ever helped her in life? Yet still, all manner of names dropped her mouth in attempts to beseech their favour. And despite how little it _didn't matter_ , the lord and god of the vine's name was was curiously absent from her lips.

How would he help her, when it was wine that Theseus tricked her with in the first place?

For all that the wine-worshippers could claim the drink brought them freedom, _for all she had perhaps once dreamed of the platonic ideal of freedom that it embodied_ , Ariadne only saw herself trapped here for her overindulgence.

Wine had facilitated much of her sorrow, and more would do little to solve it. Not that it mattered in Ariadne's eyes.

Why should any of these deities listen to her anyway? What did she have to offer? There was no prodigious amount of grain or slaughtered animal to sweeten her pleas, no decorated altar or sacred place of significance that she stood in.

If only she knew the name of this island, Ariadne might have realised how entirely sacred it was to someone she steadfastly ignored.

But she knew not.

A heavy sigh left her mouth as she drew herself up, neck limp as her head hung heavy.

A fist slammed into dry earth next to her, harder than she intended. The blunt trauma that bloomed in her fist cut through her thoughts as intended. Thoughts of how _she trusted him_.

She could still smell those damn flowers – their scent now spoiled to her nose.

Sand crunched under Ariadne’s bare feet as she walked out onto the beach, ripping these damned flowers from her body. Funny have they had stayed so miraculously in place overnight, unlike the hands that had placed them there.

Stray rocks and shell bit into her soles, but she cared not. Nothing phased her. Not the blinding nature of the sun on her bloodshot and wine-sickened eyes, nor the few strands of hair tangled in the stalks that ripped from her scalp – nothing! Ariande was entirely focused upon tearing the blooms apart, kicking sand upon them as they fell.

She refused to hold on to such an insipid symbol.

The sting of the salty tears pricked at her eyes, struggling as she was to control her breathing, aspirating large uneven breaths far too fast for her lungs. She felt as if she was suffocating, despite each desperate gulping breath she took.

How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly? Ariadne knew she must have made some error, but she didn't know _what._ Had she forgotten to be careful with her words as she swam in wine? Did she admit to him her secret?

That didn’t quite sit right in her thoughts.

Not with the way he’d acted towards her the entire day. The way he’d avoided her, the overly affected tone of his voice when he’d invited her down to the beach – all these little things in him that Ariadne had seen but ignored.

It had been so easy to look away. Ariadne had grown so used to not questioning things in her life, always afraid of what the answers to those questions might be. But now? She was full of questions she wished to ask, and only her bitter and wounded self to answer them.

Heaving sobs hit her. Gods, how she wished for her mother then. For Tabitae.

For both of them.

Squatting low on her heels, Ariadne shook as she wrapped her arms around her knees. Her mind went back to only days ago, in the palace courtyard.

Cruelty. One of the first things she noticed about Theseus, after she had gawked at him like the sheltered girl she was. What had she done to deserve that side of the prince? To bring out that brutal edge?

A tiny and insidious voice proposed something awful within her. ‘ _Perhaps Phaedra told him…?_ ’

Tears and mucus smeared against her knees as she furiously shook her head in refusal of her own concept. Unthinkable. Phaedra wouldn't do that to her.

Had Pasiphae not warned her of what would happen? This moment had been inevitable, and any of her attempts to displace her mother's foresight were worthless.

' _At least Phaedra is safe._ '

But Ariadne still feared for her. Though less discardable by far, and far bolder than Ariadne could ever imagine herself? Phaedra was alone, and surrounded by strangers who seemed to have no problem seeing her family as disposable.

A scary prospect for anyone.

But she could imagine a way forward for Phaedra, at least. As for Ariadne?

Without her mother, or Tabitae, or Asterion: what was left for her in this world other than the two who had sailed away that morning?

The unfortunate flaw in her brother’s plan became clear then. It simply hinged on so many things that weren't reality – so many things she wasn't. She was just Ariadne. Hollow and barren, the bastard child of a witch. Who would need that?

But she didn’t have to lie anymore, and neither would Theseus when he introduced his princess. For Phaedra was the real thing – unlike Ariadne.

' _At least Asterion got what he wanted…_ ' That little voice chimed again, full of anger and straight from within the selfish pit inside her.

A voice from a part of her that would rather be back in Crete, _despite everything_. The part of Ariadne that would rather Theseus died that night, and that she kept living her isolated life with the family she loved.

But she took it back as soon as the thought hit her.

It was _her_ decision to offer up those soft vulnerable parts to the prince at the flick of a flower, _and Theseus's own decision to abandon her not a day later_.

Asterion had nothing to do with it.

She knew she had shortcomings. Surely, if she were experienced, Ariadne would have seen this coming. But then, was it not her _experience_ now that tainted her?

All Ariadne knew is that it had only taken a single day for things to change so harshly. Only one day for him to lose his 'love'. Had Minos been so fast to lose his own affection for her mother after they had married? Perhaps they had never even set themselves to pretending, like Ariadne had.

That was reality – marriage was for cementing power. Not for love. Certainly not to fulfill the stupid dreams she had of someone loving who would offer her an escape.

' _Even if they never loved each other, at least they married. Theseus just took your virtue and left you here..._ ' That awful voice vocalised.

She hated that his touch had been so obscenely welcomed. Not only by her body, but after that first night – her mind and mouth too.

She hated that she longed to feel his arms around her even now, despite every memory of her poor attempts to warm and melt into him becoming suddenly shameful. For him to wrap his arms around her and whisper sweet and meaningless words into her ears… what would she give?

' _Am I truly so starved for touches from another that I stoop so low to feed my addiction?_ '

Disgusted with herself, Ariadne thought of what she had given up to be here. The people she pushed away – the look on Pasiphae's face when she had chosen not to leave with her.

It was the first time in so very long – perhaps ever – that Ariadne had been given the opportunity to decide where her life went.

And this is what it had earned her. Alone on an island that she had not even thought to ask the name of. Without water. Without food.

But the grim danger of what it meant to be so truly alone refused to register.

While Ariadne busied herself frantically pounding the sand, and her heart was seized by all her most terrible thoughts, there _was_ a small part of her subconscious that knew not all was hopeless. But right then, with the sun beating down upon her? She cared for nothing, especially her future.

' _The sea can take me when the tide comes in_.'

If someone were to offer her a chance to simply stop existing then – no pain, or suffering, or remembering in hindsight – just the simple ceasing of being at all?

She might consider it.

Out here on the beach, the girl's sun-shy skin was exposed, and had already pinkened. It was distinctly unpleasant, but she couldn’t manage the will to move.

Why for? For who should she move? For herself?

How long she laid there, staring emptily, she wasn't sure. But it was long enough that the tide had come in, and the sea started to tickle her feet. Forced to choose between her apathy and her hatred of this new feeling of wet sand stuck between her toes, her hatred won out.

Ariadne allowed herself to be spurred into a token form of self-preservation, preferring to make herself a hypocrite. The sea wouldn't be taking her today – if only because she refused to let soggy sandals add to her misery.

So many new things she’d found since leaving Knossos – and this day seemed to be full of new experiences and feelings which she suffered through, rather than marvelled at.

-

Shaded by a wall of stone above her, bedding at her feet, she started to play a game.

A game of asking, _what would she give not to be alone at that moment?_

“I would… watch Phaedra marry that awful man. Seal away my heart – if only it meant I was with them.” Ariadne surprised herself, speaking out loud. But then, who was there to hear her?

There was no one there to judge, no one to look at her words or think her pathetic, strange or inadequate. And in turn words flowed freely from her freshly tapped rawness.

"Theseus didn’t have to leave me behind if he didn’t want me anymore. I could have been happy being for Phaedra as I was for Asterion."

Faithful and dutiful, as always.

“I’d be her handmaid, and tell no one of my promise with Theseus. Never dare to remind him of what I thought was between us.”

And so on.

Ariadne spoke what she felt, rather than what was proper to say, or even what she really wanted. Every new idea she came up with helping her to process what had happened, as each false bargain she made seemed to become more and more ridiculous in her eyes.

Except one.

“To see Asterakis again - oh.. I’d give…” Ariadne laughed, a bitter hoarse thing from her lips. “I would die for that.”

After a certain point, even though her eyes were red and she was raw in more ways than one, Ariadne came to a certain form of peace. Still indisputably torn up on the inside, but aware that wishing for impossibilities would get her nowhere.

Because there was no going back.

Later, she would get up and try to find help or salvation. But right then she was drained, wrung out from her emotions as she closed her eyes, knowing that sleep wouldn't find her. It was still a respite, even if it was by brooding about her fate as she laid about – wondering what Pasiphae would say if she could see her then.

-

𐄈𐄎

_one who unsuccessfully milks time for the perfect moment_

  
  


On his stomach, grass flattened underneath and poking his belly, Dionysus peered over the edge of his stony perch.

And there on the beach was Ariadne, despondent.

All morning he had been there, unsure of when best to appear. He thought at first that he might be there right as she awoke, but… it seemed not the right time. He didn’t even know _how_ he wanted to approach.

As always, there was a large part of him that veered toward the aesthetic of extravagance.

There was a vision in his mind. Him with his thrysus, and covered in his ambrosial cloak. A parade of happy partiers and amiable beasts that all followed in his footsteps. They would put on a feast for the sad Cretan princess as Ariadne lay witness to all the splendour and wealth of his camp.

Wealth which he measured in joy, rather than gold.

But such things were a fantasy. It was not his place to put so many eyes upon her, and reveal to them her sorrow.

Her story was her own to tell and share when she was ready. If she would be ready.

Should he even approach her as a god at all?

Within him, the antithesis to this extravagance argued, talking of how he should simply come to her as a mortal. A hunter in the wild who could have been any of the ruddy face vine-worshippers crowding Naxos. He could promise to take the sad girl back home with him and disappear soon after. Once she was put somewhere safe, with people who could nurture her – _not him_.

' _No. No more disguises. No disappearing – she's had enough of that._ '

But still, the decision of when he would appear was left unmade.

So instead of going to soothe her sorrows, he watched her tearfully pound away at the sand, shouting and crying her frustrations out into the world. He watched her listless upon the beach, as she began to move into utter desolation.

It was a look he recognised, of someone who needed another to talk to – and if she had called his name in her fit of desperate prayer, he would have gone to her instantly.

But… she didn't. So again, he waited. And Dionysus couldn't help but feel the snub more personally than he should have.

It wasn't uncommon for mortals to curse him after a night of particularly heavy drinking, blaming the god and his drink for their mistakes. Ariadne had far better reason than most to forsake him – but she couldn't have known that yet.

That she was _already_ against him…

Of course it was entirely petty, but he _wanted_ her to like him, at least as a person. Dionysus wanted everyone to like him, or at least he tried to make it so.

And yet, to appear now felt manipulative.

To appear with all the answers in the midst of desperation, her mind grasping for something or anything that might deliver her away. It felt wrong to explain it all to her before she even had a chance to come to her own conclusions.

So he waited even more.

It wasn’t as if Dionysus was _stalling_. No. Never – perish the thought.

But before he had a chance to continue his procrastination, an all-too-familiar and charming voice interrupted.

“Well, well, well. Look who's here early for once. What a fucking surprise."

If the tone of that voice sounded displeased, it was nothing compared to the boiling of the sweet wine in his veins, as Dionysus pushed himself to his feet and turned around to see his friend.

Eros – with an arrow trained on him.

Aw beans.

“Oh shit – uh, Eros, buddy. Pal.” Dionysus was a little shocked. He'd been _so sure_ that Eros would at least keep his word. And where any other god might have had another swear upon the Styx?

Well, Dionysus preferred to rely on a little thing called _trust_ – and was paying for it heartily.

"Are you drunk? Thought you weren’t gonna try this shit again.”

“ _Are you drunk_? Did you think I didn't hear about your little adventures?” He spoke with an aim that wavered not one bit as he spoke. This was not a drunk and passionate Eros, but one following through with a plan entirely premeditated. "Ooh _,_ and I bet you thought you were _super_ clever.”

Shining at the tip of the arrowhead, a strange substance dripped off the edge and sizzled as it hit the ground.

“I thought I was helping! And by the way? I _am_ super clever – I looked at the prophecy and it's pretty clear to me that nobody needs to get tied down for this to work."

Or at least that was technically true, from his interpretation. It was about him anyway, so wasn't that the only opinion that mattered?

That was ignoring, of course, the one other person whose interpretation might matter – Ariadne.

So close, and yet so uninvolved with the conversation, as these gods so casually discussed her future! Such was the lot of mortals when dealing with divinity, even the ones with shreds of humanity.

"So you're just going to ignore the little bit about crowning her, and all the poetic shit about things being sown between you?"

"That’s all it is though! Poetic corny shit that Apollo likes – which by the way is up to interpretation. Maybe me crowning her is, like… you know, symbolic of me giving her what she actually _needs._ Like, a community to be around, and the opportunity for healthy relationships in the fu—”

“Wow! You don’t even realise how obsessed you are! Just like the prose, really."

Wings fluttered excitedly, and before Dionysus could even manage a retort, Eros burst into recitation.

“ _Sown like seed, between rows of a wild and untended old vineyard_

 _unaware, afraid of them growing and bridging the gap, hands clasp’ed._ ”

Eros’s smile widened as Dionysus blanched. Corniness of Apollo notwithstanding, his oracular brother at least knew him well enough to be spot on about his insecurities.

“That's a hundred percent you, bud, I swear! But, you know, your dumb fate-avoiding-ass is so keen on trying to mess things up. So – no risks today.”

If Eros wasn’t careful, Dionysus was going to mess him up.

But much as he tried to think of solutions – like sprouting a cage of vines at his feet that would overtake the winged god in seconds – Eros only needed but a single moment to set his arrow loose and accomplish his deed.

So he pleaded.

“Don’t shoot.” Dionysus’s hands were in front of him, open and nervous. “Please? I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing she needs right now, me running in there all hopped up on your shit and whispering a bunch of promises that I won’t be able to keep into her ears.”

He'd been through that far too many times already.

“I wouldn't pull the same trick again, Dio.” They circled each other, as Dionysus crept away from the edge. Best if he didn't go careening over. “I mean, I promised not to! This arrow’s totally non-magical, you can see that – right?"

He could, though Dionysus felt like there was a but coming.

“But it is coated with hydra venom, so…”

 _That_ was a problem.

“Dude, what the fuck! You’re trying to kill me! What's that about!" A rushing anger made itself known with Dionysus, who was all too aware of the darkening of his eyes to the colour of ripe grapes. A hissing frustration boiled over, aimed at Eros and at himself. At his own damned humanity and his so-called immortality.

“Without a doubt, bud. You gotta understand, I desperately need a vacation, right? So I just asked myself what the old Eros would do.”

The old Eros? Like, the _primordial_ one?

"'Cause you know, I get it. I get what it’s like to remember an old life. An old love. And I asked myself where love really springs from, you know? Removed from the whole bodily attraction thing… and you know what?"

Silence.

If Eros expected Dionysus to play along and answer his rhetorical questions at arrowpoint, he had another thing coming.

"It's really just basic vulnerability! And for a lot of people, a pretty face and a tiny bit of emotional lubrication is enough.” Muscles flexed, readying in anticipation. “If only you were that easy, eh?"

Eros let his arrow loose, and it shredded skin and broke through bone with ease. The pain was instant as his flesh started to flare up.

A familiar burn, the same kind he’d felt reaching out within Ariadne, those millions of little shards working their way into his skin. But that had only been a brief taste—

This was reality, and _this_ pain spread.

It seeped out and leached through the tissues of his body, mixing with his immortal ichor until his body felt suffused with the cold shattering.

“Don’t look so angry, bud! I know you’ll be back in a few hours, good as new. All full of vigor and life – and just a touch maddened. One hundred percent _you_.”

‘ _Fuck you_.’ He would have liked to have said – but it was a waste of words, and the rapidly decreasing pressure in his lungs meant he needed to choose them wisely.

Instead he thought of what he would do once returned from his forced katabasis, and violent images were birthed and suffocated within his mind as his limbs began to seize.

Dionysus feverishly dreamt of how he would pluck the feathers from his winged friend, one by one.

He saw himself doing Eros the favour of ripping said wings clean off his body one the plucking was done – so that they too could grow back fresh and shiny. Good as new and full of vigor and life, so that Eros could see how he liked it.

Biting his tongue, a genuine attempt was made to steer himself away from these violent and brutal thoughts. But it was inevitable when one was being sent to the underworld – especially when at the hands of someone he trusted.

Fucking hydra venom.

Muscles tight, the vine god fell to the earth, and what do you know? He barely felt the ground as he hit it – with eyes closed, and a throat so tight he managed only the barest intake of air.

It was enough to sustain a single word.

“ _Why_?”

“'Cause you don't need fixing, you need understanding. I took a bit of time to try and define all that shit you say is too abstract for words, you know. With the nymph.” It took an embarrassing moment for Dionysus to register that Eros was talking about Psalacantha. He realised just how little he had thought of her over the past few days, so busy as he was concerning himself over wallowing, so focused on Ariadne.

Dionysus had to admit there was a kernel of truth in what Eros had said. About him being obsessed with the princess – or at least obsessed with avoiding her.

“It's basically what I said earlier, right? About vulnerability – and when it comes to people you fool around with, that's in short supply. The kind of people you let close to you, who you might share your troubles with? You make sure they're the type of people who would never push those boundaries. Good friends to have around."

No. Eros didn't understand. He couldn't know what it was like to know these things were impossible.

" _Except_ for her. Because she forces you to be vulnerable – and not in a good way, bud."

All Dionysus could do was manage to shake his head in denial.

The moments where Psalacantha took from him were the closest he felt to true belief. The awful antagonism that swirled between them felt more real than the ecstasy of those who came to him, or his attendants in the rite.

Real for him, anyway.

"So I'll be the bad guy, and force it from you – so long as it makes you open enough to see what's right in front of you. Maybe it doesn’t work out. Maybe the wording is a little vague, and it isn’t forever – but at the very least, maybe this will remind you...” A brief and genuine look of guilt appeared on Eros's face as he watched his friend on the ground. “You deserve this, okay? Not what's happening right here and now – but… You’ll see.”

The words slipped past the vine god's ears as phonetics lost their meaning to his poison-addled brain, and only raw thoughts remained.

Dionysus found only two truths left for him in this world.

First, the truth of glass shards that broke and shattered with his every little shuddering breath. Second, the looming fact that he was somehow going to have to stop himself from being… well – _himself_ once he resurfaced from the depths.

And he wasn’t sure how.

How long had it been since he’d last died? The years had slipped through his fingers, and there were so many little occasions with his maenad's experiments.

Where had he last met his end feeling so betrayed?

Thebes?

Certainly he would never forget the city of his mother. The city of his family, and where his cousin declared him a heretic only just before pushing him over a precipice.

It was a rather instantaneous death at least, barely a memory as he hit the ground.

More memorable was the crushing nature of his feelings as he’d woken up – alone and broken like always.

A tale that had repeated itself endlessly in his long walk.

The death of a god and those empowered once he rose again. Together their dreams of vengeance were realised – through bodies torn apart, and crushed underfoot like so many grapes.

Back on Naxos, Dionysus still swam in those dark memories, only disturbed by the crunch of footsteps, as Eros stood above him.

An attempt was made to shoot Eros one last hateful look, only for Dionysus to find the world awash in colour as the erote's form flowed into a blob of Eros associated things, recognised in his addled mind as vaguely human and wing shaped ideas. The erote’s primordial nature was bleeding into perception as his body shut down.

Dionysus closed his eyes again, and focused on the sound of rushing water in his ears.

"Let's not risk our little princess nicking herself, eh?" Distantly, he felt a tearing of his flesh as Eros pulled his arrow – brutalising the wound all over again.

Dionysus could barely parse it, the venom numbing him to tactile sensation with its all-encompassing pain, much as the gash on his chest looked all the uglier for it.

Eros reached down to remove a wooden fastening from his shoulder, and opened up the loose fabric to reveal more.

“Enticingly tragic looking, if I do say so myself.”

If he were in his right mind at all, Dionysus would have said something about how ridiculous it was to be made appealing in death of all things. But as it was, all that Eros said was nonsense to his ears, and all that he could do was feel himself fall further away. His limbs growing cold as the pain finally started to let up.

Then – his own voice whispering softly, barely audible over the rushing waters of a river. A stream that would wash away his worries and soothe his earthly torment once his essence began to slip between.

Few could claim to enter and leave as easily as he did – though he certainly paid the price every time.

‘ _Mum should be happy, at least._ ’ He wanted to laugh, but to even open his mouth and take a breath seemed too much energy to perform. ' _She's always happy to see me…'_

The shade took him then.

But curiously, not all of him. For though his mind had departed, and his limbs were deadened – a heart still thrummed within him as slowly and surely as it always had.

-

𐄈𐄏

_the one who persists_

Ariadne's mouth was full of leaves. Edible ones.

For all her troubles, she had never missed a meal before and she was determined not to start now. After all, _she knew plants_. Well enough that she was confident that she could last out the day at least.

' _Not that Theseus knew that when he left me here._ '

Looking over her shoulder, back in the direction of the beach, she knew there was samphire there. A tasty treat – and there was plenty, though the tide had already come in to cover it.

Her parched throat wasn’t too keen on such a salty delicacy, however, and water was a whole other concern. Food was easier for her to find.

So naturally, she had gone looking for something else, leaving the beach and walking up along a slope until she found a meadow. Around here Ariadne didn’t have to look very far at all before she spotted her solution, a fluffy looking bloom. Not just one, but a vast and robust community that filled in the rocky edges backing the wild field.

At that moment, more than anything else, she was glad she had been such a funny child with funny habits.

Like eating grass, or leaves as it were now.

Ariadne felt a moment of nostalgia as she plucked her meal from the ground, thinking of how she nibbled on most any of the greenery, so long as it looked tasty to her. Unfortunately many things had seemed rather tasty to the tiny Ariadne.

It had only taken one look from Pasiphae to her leaf-eating daughter for her to realise changes needed to be made. After all, the witch queen kept many noxious plants – which was _exactly_ why she taught her curious and hungry little daughter how to identify, and know what was strictly edible and what was definitely poisonous.

' _Toothy looking leaves, smooth and glabrous… bloom resembling the golden mane of a lion, though I have no clue what that even means._ '

She knew this plant well. It was very edible, though rather bitter, but being fit to be eaten was more important than tasty at the moment. Ariadne knew little of the wilderness, but she knew at least that she would not find her favourite treat of honey soaked barley cakes growing freely from the dirt.

But these did, apparently.

Ariadne remembered her task of removing these from her mother's gardens, the puffy maned flowers taking root wherever they were allowed. After what seemed like an age filling her stomach with the most tender and young leaves – the least bitter – she spent time filling her skirts for later.

But before resting, she had one more task.

Several times she found flowers that had already gone to seed and clasped the puffy white orbs in her hand. She brought them to her mouth and blew, letting the seeds fly free into the air. A small attempt to return her favour to the plant.

These were the sorts of things Ariadne had dreamed of taking delight in once she had left the palace, simple little joys and freedoms without worry.

Grief tore through Ariadne anew at the thought as she flopped down in the tallgrass, her short period of functionality soon robbed from her. She needed to stop confusing her dreams for actual expectations.

‘ _Gone… all gone. And what – was I just expected to perish?_ ’

Ariadne sighed as she turned to her back. She faced the sky, wondering if Helios even cared. Being that she was just one grandchild among a vast many – Ariadne doubted it. With all that had happened, she wondered what there was left that _she_ should even care about. If she even made it out of this alive.

A full stomach was nice, but night would be approaching soon and she had no idea what beasts lurked on this island. To not be starving was a small consolation.

She wondered how it was that she took this so logically, that she insisted on persisting despite… everything. Why not continue to agonize on the beach, listless and empty of any will to continue? Why not die of sadness, full of sorrow and betrayal like some tragic woman in a tale?

But then, she wasn’t never exactly quite sure of the way one died of sadness in the first place – and more than that, _this was who Ariadne was_. She would continue marching along, accepting the circumstances and agonizing along the way if she had to.

She remembered the ridiculous tantrum she had thrown as a girl, only the morning after her and Asterion’s ill-fated escape. Crying and begging for her mother to let her go to do her chores in the labyrinth and see Asterion. To make sure _he_ was okay.

In hindsight she had been in no condition to do anything. The very fact that her back was no longer a mess of bloody ribbons by that point was in itself suspiciously miraculous. All her young self had known was that the idea of having her time in the labyrinth taken away as punishment, filled with work as it was, had put a fear in her heart.

Pasiphae hadn’t entirely refused, taking Ariadne down herself to see Asterion that night, as Tabitae completed the day’s tasks on her own.

At least she had something to live for then, rather than just carrying on existing because she had no idea what else to do―

A curious high pitched meow interrupted her.

It was accompanied by the awful odour of an animal's breath. Ariadne could only manage to squeak out hoarsely in surprise as a furry face pushed insistently into her own, her voice tired after crying and shouting.

Scrawny, greyish black and full of fur, it was tiny and making itself busy kneading paws into her breasts affectionately, if not _also_ mildly painfully.

‘ _Poor thing!_ ’

And just like that, her sorrow was momentarily forgotten yet again.

She thought she might have recognized it, what with its coat, friendly demeanour, and three little white paws. (For which Ariadne had affectionately dubbed it ‘Slippers’.)

It seemed to be as far away from home as she was.

A few of the labyrinth cats had been on board, taken to give the frayed Athenians who had been missing a sense of home, and Ariadne had a cold suspicion that Slippers wasn’t the only one beached with her.

“I suppose this is just the fate of us cursed creatures of the labyrinth, huh?”

Cursed. How often had she heard that word thrown around? About her family, about the labyrinth – and within the confines of her mind, about herself too.

In a moment of weakness, knowing fully the futility of her action – Ariadne swept the cat up into herself, and held it to her chest for a moment of dear embrace. It helped just a little, even if she released a squirming feline only a second later.

But she was still as full of salt as the samphire that she eyed hungrily across the beach, as she returned to her attempts to figure how she had been fooled so easily.

The prince had a strange way with words, at least when he wanted. So perfectly designed as they were to make her give in to what he was looking for... Even the way he had spoken to her so artfully on that afternoon under the fig tree, telling her she looked like old palace paintings – it had swept away so many of her reservations. It felt poetic, at least to her.

But perhaps she should have been wary even at that. Acacallis’s lover, the god. Hadn’t he been wonderfully poetic and artful?

She could still remember clearly in her mind; the beautiful music of a lyre, and the poetry of a voice that was impossibly crisp and clear. How radiant he had seemed, and how dreamy her sister’s face had been before they came together in warm embrace. Most particularly she remembered the the stone cold underneath her feet as she ran away. Back to her room as she realised she should never have been hiding there in the first place.

‘ _Look where that went._ ’

Shouts that echoed off the walls between Acacallis and their mother – about how she had gotten pregnant. For Minos, that her sister had attracted the attention of a god at all was cause for exile, for favour could quickly turn to scorn.

Still, Acacallis was safe and sound, and far away from the influence of Knossos thanks to Pasiphae. It was more than the god had done. Though Ariadne reasoned that absence of a father was perhaps better for the little one than having the chance of a particularly horrible one.

Mewling distracted Ariadne from the sourness of her thoughts yet again, as the cat dug into a little crevice of her peplos looking for food.

Cats always wanted food. But didn’t it know she was left with nothing?”

“Oh, I do wish I had something to feed you, but―”

She had forgotten all about her little stash! But the little cat certainly didn’t, sniffing exactly where treasure was hidden.

Compressed within the pocket folds, the dried fish had crumbled, flaked, and pressed together into a smelly pocket shaped brick. But misshapen and meagre as it was, she was happy to share with the little furry beast.

Letting a hand follow along the cat’s neck, Slippers almost jumped into her touch, and Ariadne felt just a bit soothed. She would enjoy the affection it lavished upon her, though she laughed at how quickly the cat’s focus and affection to her waned as soon as the fish was presented.

And that was how Ariadne found herself spending her afternoon watching Slippers work, rather than seeking out civilization.

The cat was honestly quite ruthless, taking out more birds than it seemed to have a stomach for in a rather short order. There were so many of the tiny things, flitting from spot to spot above the grass as they dipped in and out of their sedgy hiding places.

Ariadne flopped back again, wondering what use she had if the little thing was such a capable hunter. After all, that was the only reason the labyrinth cats had favoured her in the first place – that she cleaned up after their shit for so long barely mattered, of course.

A small possessive part of Ariadne spurred her next decision, and though she realised that she must look quite foolish? There was no one there to stop her.

She approached Slippers, who looked up at her with wide eyes and tail up in friendly greeting.

Fishing her spool out of the pouch, Ariadne wound her thread around the cat’s midsection, knowing that being able to convince the feline to stay by her side in these lonely times was unlikely at best.

But she would follow where Slippers went. Because she needed something, _any_ form of companionship. The thought laid heavy in her heart as she tied the knot.

The little thing was off as soon as she finished. Running away – until Slippers finally settled herself, idly licking in front of a large boulder. As if waiting for her, though looking somewhat annoyed.

There was a rustling and she saw another cat, this one fully grey and mottled not unlike her own, scurrying into some tall grass. Then another. Friends of Slippers?

Then – a sound. A low keening moan, followed by a long and desperate gasp for air. Something wounded or worse from the sounds of it.

Far closer than was comfortable, and Ariadne whipped her head around, wondering where it came from, though she had a suspicion.

It pulled at her heart, even if she had no idea what or who had made the noise. There was some widely repeated adage about wounded animals, and how they were rather dangerous. Of course, Ariadne only knew much about plants.

But as she peeked past the stone, she found herself something far more dangerous than any wild animal.

 _‘A man!_ ’ She thought, missing the forest for the trees.

-

𐄒

_the happily displaced_

In the opinion of Dionysus, who was rather experienced in the matter, the funniest thing about death was that actually being dead was the best part.

Even his earlier days, Floating down the river of the Underworld had been a comforting reprieve from the endless lifetimes that played under his eyelids. Far more welcome to him than that maddening frenzy of violence that tightened his tendons back up above.

There was something humbling and familiar about it, being just another soul that floated the stream. As if he were no longer a god or a man, and all that existed of him were eyes that observed the world around him.

Dead ones, which no longer needed to blink, and no longer felt the sting of water that could watch the strange ecosystem that had coalesced at the bottom of the underworld rivers.

One wasn't themself anymore when they floated the waters, they were part of a vast colony of numbed consciousness.

 _Non-existent_ , in a way that a young and formerly ascetic prince had told him once, as he sat under a tree past the vast mountains that loomed east of Nysa.

‘ _Is this an escape from that endless cycle?_ ’

There were so many of them pooled there that the Styx was hardly a river anymore. Indeed, the flow had swelled and grown until the once thick river was now oceanic in size as it emptied out into the Phlegathon, the Lethe and their countless tributaries.

All which carried their own strange forms of un-life.

The little fish that would nibble and cleanse the skin of those whose bodies had been bathed in blood.

Strange little bugs that hid in algae lined holes, disappearing into clouds of sediment as large and mean looking eels patrolled the water. The little crustaceans having nothing to fear— for the eels only searched for the ankles of specific and particular souls. Grabbing hold and dragging the already poor and unfortunate dead off to places he could not even begin to guess after.

It used to be he would spend the entire time floating about, observing and feeling what it was like to dissolve in the everything-ness of it all.

Things were different now.

There was that classic numbness as always, but now followed by blackness.

Then waking up to a cup of steaming something called _tea,_ and a mother who was eager to dote upon him.

-

They stood in a kitchen that was small and cozy, and though neither of them could enjoy memories of him running through it as a child, they made up for lost time with many of the memories they had made there since.

He observed himself in front of a mirror better than any polished metal that passed for one in the living world. More clear than Athena’s scrying pool— made by human hands no less, apparently. One jagged crack ran from the top, curving horizontally.

“You look so handsome!”

"Sure, mum."

It was an incredibly true statement as far as he was concerned, but his current outfit was doing its best to ruin his confidence in the matter.

His preference for clothes ran in two directions: as loose and free flowing as possible, or on the verge of being several sizes too small. Especially when reduced to his bare essence, Dionysus found there was something comforting about sticking his primordial soup into something so tight that almost felt like skin again.

What his mother had given him to wear was decidedly neither— but how often did he get to see her?

His hair had been brushed and tied into a tight little ponytail, and Dionysus found himself squeezed into something called a _polo_ accompanied by strange non-skin tight pants called _slacks_.

Dionysus had a love and hate relationship with pants—

“Uh— thanks. It looks very… _business casual_? Was that it?”

Yeah, that wasn’t a word that was making its way into his daily vocabulary anytime soon.

Semele offered him a cheeky little smile as she cackled and swatted him away from the floor length mirror. All along the sides were little representations of him and Semele called _photos_ , with him dressed in all manner of strange and stuffy outfits. Frilled anything you could name, ruffled collars, _doublets_. Things with sleeves.

She claimed that she simply liked to see him put together once in a while, but he suspected that she took pride in being the only person living or dead who saw him like this.

He was frankly quite comfortable looking like the definition of a hot mess, _but then she only saw him so often_.

But even he had to admit it was fascinating to look at nonetheless. Such strange and prematurely stale outfits from seemingly endless stretches of time away.

Dead before arrival.

Apparently all these new wonderful and weird chthonic customs were simply the fruit of what he'd always known; the mortals were frighteningly powerful, and in the most hilariously simple ways sometimes.

All it had taken to fill the underworld with anachronism had been for humans to confuse the concept of time and his father's father. With names like Cronos and Chronos, and a mostly illiterate populace, it was frankly inevitable.

Rested right on top of the infanticidal and cannibalistic titan’s eternal prison, the Styx had swelled with an influx of strange gifts and displaced souls. One of the dead world's best kept secrets, though it was more so aided by the fact that anything vaguely chthonic was so _obviously_ beneath anyone who would have given any sort of a shit.

As a result, things down there had started to get _real_ weird – the kind of weird that Dionysus was a fan of.

Picking one of the little _photos_ off of the mirror, he smiled as he saw himself. This shirt in this one had laces – and puffy sleeves. Big pluses in his books.

“Ah- what a sweet boy you are, indulging your mother like this! Now, tell me how you’ve been these last long… years? Has it been years since I last saw you?”

Funnily enough, it had been exactly two. “Barely.”

The dead had a hard time quantifying time— with Ixion spinning in the sky so consistently, and no passage of seasons? It was only natural to have trouble defining oneself by the traversal of celestial objects.

“Well, you know. The usual. A couple thousand people following me around at all times— everyone’s holding hands. Or drunk. Sometimes we sing and dance and fuck, and sometimes, now, we just sing and dance and explicitly hold off on the fucking. But the grass definitely _seems_ greener in the places that we do— or at least that I do.” He closed his eyes before continuing. “I still spend half my time making an ass out of myself for everyone to see, and the other half being a blank slate for people and making sure I live up to my reputation. Then there’s the time that I spend…”

“That’s three halves, son.”

“The last _third_ of the time I mostly keep to myself— or I try to anyway. Sometimes I get interrupted by these funny people who keep popping up and insisting we’re friends.”

Eupraxia was one of those people. So was Timaeus, even if he wasn’t particularly great at perceiving boundaries. All people who saw him as a person before anything else.

In a way, his mother too was another who had lost that fear. But then death had a way of doing that.

He had never known the sort of life his mother had lived beyond the basics, only her strange happiness in death. But looking around at the odd little kitchen with its many unfamiliar gleaming implements— she seemed so happy as she shooed him off to go change into something he actually liked.

Happier than she had ever been weaving and worshipping, or at least so Semele claimed. She had responsibilities here. A job, apparently.

And she was always glad to see him here, in this place of waiting souls. Even if he was just a cobbled together mess of memories in a divine suit of skin, rather than the semi-divine son that she should have had, if she had lived.

' _Thanks Hera._ ’

The artful way that the great sky father explained the perilous deceit of his wife, and how she had tricked Semele and Zeus was only half the truth of the goddess's spite.

She was the reason he remembered, after all.

The thought of it all left a sour taste in his mouth toward Zeus, though he had never been able to say why. It wasn't as if his father attempted to be willfully horrid _this time_.

But there were more pleasant things to think about here, like the pants in front of him at the moment. Far better than slacks. Pants that hugged his life soup just right and laced like sandals up his sides.

 _Punk_. That was the word he was fairly sure Hermes would use to describe them. Whatever words described them, Dionysus simply liked having nice wide windows for his legs to peek out of.

A fluffy white robe that he had been told was for bathing looked particularly comforting, so he grabbed that too before heading back out.

Waiting just for him were two flakey little buns in the middle of the table. Like nothing he had seen before, and he could tell they were heavy with butter when he hefted one in his hand. Butter was as fine as wine in his book, though less mind altering. Awful, awful things had been done to a Thracian king in order to secure a steady supply of the stuff. Things which he regretted very little.

But even richness and the crisp outer crumb of the flaking bread couldn’t lift his awful spirits.

Not the way a real feast could. Like most underworld food, it was as far away from fresh as could be without spoiling.

“So what’s wrong?”

“A lot.”

“Other than the usual.”

Semele’s eyes flickered to his chest, straight at the obvious now that he had donned his robe. His arrow wound— funny how all the other shades seemed to have clean silhouettes, unmarked by whatever had brought about their end.

Not so for him.

“Well. I impersonated a prince… Tried to defy fate – had exactly what I was trying to avoid delivered to me directly as a result of my own actions.” He mumbled, staring into the depths of his tea, blowing away the thin swirling layer on top. “Basically, I met someone.”

Semele’s eyes lit up in that way a mother’s eyes could not help when their children chose to share details about their prospective love lives. His mother's eyes in particular looked maddened with glee.

"You will simply have to tell me everything.”

Oh, he was _definitely_ leaving out bits.

“Well, it’s not really like how you think. See, there was this other guy, and—“

“Dionysus! What is this nonsense you’re giving me? I know you can tell a story better than that.”

He could. But was it really his story to tell? Athena had filled him in on what he’d missed, more or less but it hadn't felt quite complete.

Though he knew the basics: a tragic accident of a death, a fast war waged across the seas and the final brutal price. Blood that was exacted every seven years so that the childless Athenian king might feel a small portion of loss that Minos had for his son.

It was one perspective, one interpretation of the story.

Impulsive soul that he was, Dionysus would have bet all the wine and butter of his camp that Ariadne had a far more interesting tale to tell. But he settled for making due with what he had.

With a dramatic and put upon sigh, Dionysus began to weave the story.

“Bless me with your ears as I beckon, you curious and questioning dead. Listen to what I have to say, and lose not your way— for this story has many twists and turns, of which even I am unaware."

“Oh! So all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Aaaand any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental?” She smiled, finding her son’s annoyed expression at the interruption quite entertaining. “Well, I suppose I don’t mind, as long as you’re telling a good story.”

“ _Like I was saying_ — it begins upon the eve of a moon, more than twenty long summers ago. When the Lord Poseidon, both as generous as he is vain, gifted a Knossan king with a beauteous bull. A bull that would later run wild in the fields of Marathon, and whose coat was as pure as the moon. Mighty as an aurochs, but with the horns and ruff of Paeonian cattle. They said the king wept when he saw this mighty beast, that he saw his worth finally realised in this animal. For that one hour, they say he knew peace as he thanked the Lord Poseidon time and time again— until the sea god asked for it back. For the king to _sacrifice_ this beautiful creature.”

A classic test of fealty, through and through.

Dionysus knew all the sorts of things that likely ran through his uncle's head, and suspected that the consequence had long been thought up in the sea god's mind. Perhaps even before he decided upon how to test Minos.

Was it wrath that had Poseidon beset such an awful violating indignity onto the Knossan queen? Or had it been hoped for all along?

“The sea is cruel like that, you see. It gives and gives, it peels back and shows you the most beautiful things and invites you to take them— only for the tide to come rushing in and take it back. It does not care of what is fair. But the king forgot this, so besotted and covetous of this singular cattle as he was— and so he tried to trick the god.”

The rest of it came in relatively short order— the birth of a boy with the head of a calf. (“How dear!” His mother had exclaimed.)

Then there was the sister who watched over the maze, and the hero who came to make a legacy. The doomed nature of the princess's relationship, and the god who thought he was making everything better.

“I tried to help her, you know. Get close to her in a disguise – work a little magic on her! Of course, Athena found me, and let's just say that didn’t end quite so great.”

"Circumventing the Fates design tends to do that. Did you think you'd solve everything with just the flick of a wrist? As easy as growing a bit of grass?"

"Would be real great if it was."

Impulsive asshole moments aside, Dionysus knew that Semele was not far off from the truth.

“But it isn't. So I've gone and gotten myself into this wonderful situation where like, obviously she shouldn’t have stayed with that Athenian asshole, right?” He paused, applying a good amount of hindsight to his actions in the last couple of days. “I dunno, feels like it could’ve been a lot easier on her if I had just stayed in Naxos sulking…”

“Probably! But what's happened has happened, so there's no use beating yourself up too much about it. Just do better when you get the chance – besides, you said you sang her to sleep underneath that fig tree? It's honestly rather romantic! You should have just taken her then, much easier on both of you I think."

‘ _Gross_.’ Dionysus grimaced.

Semele’s concept of romance, being rather unfortunately based upon her courtship with Zeus, didn’t quite match up with the ideals he preferred to uphold. And frankly? Dionysus didn’t even know how to approach that— realistically he really didn’t want to either.

“Well, what’ll be really romantic is when I get out of here, and the first thing that happens is her getting ripped to shreds by a bunch of frenzied wild animals. Cause there’s a non-zero chance of that happening- and that freaks me the fuck out. Not gonna lie.”

Even though he was not currently in possession of a body, he felt the effects of this nervousness play upon him. The shortness of his breath as he never seemed to get quite enough air to his non-existent lungs, the dropping of his absent stomach, and the tightness of skin as he felt trapped in himself. The only missing sensation was drumming as his heart pounded in his ears.

"Well, if you don’t want to hurt her, then I believe that! Just think creatively, you're wonderful at that."

This one little profession of belief that he’d do the right thing somehow meant more to him than any declaration of unquestioning faith from his fervent devotees.

"I'll do my best, mum."

"And don't forget this! When your head is back on straight? You need to tell her _everything_. Speaking from experience, leaving room for someone to sow any suspicion tends to end badly. Even if she's enamored by your godliness – or those cute little dimples of yours – girls have plenty of reason to mistrust you divine types."

 _That_ sat less comfortably with him.

"Oh, she'll be so thrilled to hear how I messed up her marriage plans just by existing. Or should I mention that her ex had the _audacity_ to sleep with her brother before killing him? I mean, who needs me to fuck things up when that's already going on."

"You could also tell her that you were scared. Or that you thought her love for Theseus to be as ideal as _she herself_ wished it to be. Tell her that you were wrong. You're allowed to be wrong, child.” Semele said, more than a little bit sad at her son's continued poor measure of himself. "I wish we had more time for this."

His visits could only be for so long.

"Sorry." His voice wavered a touch. "I really hate taking up our time with my problems— but sometimes it’s… hard.”

“Hush! You always like to pretend as if nothing is wrong, but seeing you _always_ means that you've gone through something. And that will never change the fact that I'll always be happy to see you! Because I'm always going to listen – especially because I can't be there when you need it most.”

Picking up the teapot, a plain and serviceable piece of black ceramic, Semele moved to fill both their cups.

“Now finish your croissant— I have a tin of cookies for you that I don’t want to wait another three years to eat.”

They were definitely stale— just like everything else was.

Yet just as he raised the both somewhat-too-hard and yet somehow-too-soft pastry to his mouth, he felt a certain amount of hope.

It helped, of course, that there was a voice missing, a part of him that was unceasingly critical and always made sure to remind him of his folly. The absence of it was such a relief that the leafy man hardly noticed, so happy as he was to be away from everything, with his family among the dead.

It felt right.

-

𐄒𐄇

_the snail farmer’s wife_

‘ _One._ ’

She steadily counted, hoping she hadn’t been seen.

‘ _Two_.’

There was nothing to be heard from the other side, no voice or scrambling.

‘ _Three.’_

No footsteps… Had she not been noticed?

The silence stretched on for a few long moments longer, as all Ariadne had to consider was the mounting irritation that had sprung up across her whole body, her skin unused to such long stretches in the sun. The heat in general had not been kind to her, and she could feel her peplos stuck to her back with sweat.

‘ _There’s shade there… shade enough for two.’_

Stealthily peeking out from behind her rock, she beheld the man again, and came to the conclusion of her first impression – which was mostly that he wasn’t in any position to argue about sharing the shade.

' _He's quite… long.’_ Though somewhat inelegant, it was the first and most obvious thing to pop into her head. But it was true, both in hair and limb. ‘And _very motionless._ '

Astute observations, if not also rather abrupt.

Was he injured? She couldn't quite tell, not from where she stood. But before she was able to muster up the courage, Slippers ventured first. Rubbing up against the girl’s leg just before it ran right past her, chasing after a rampant butterfly.

Ariadne was slightly more hesitant.

“Hello?” She called out. “Are you alright?”

Nothing came back, not even a breath, which Ariadne thought boded quite poorly. Despite that, she inched closer. If only because he seemed mostly harmless, sprawled out in the dirt and unmoving.

She took in more of him now that she approached, and saw skin that was dark and well loved by the sun, and a messy corona of hair. Desiccated leaves and twigs came into view as they covered his face, tangled into his locks.

Had he been dragged through a field before being left here?

Her mind filled with all manner of story and reasoning for what she saw before her. That he was assaulted and left for dead, for love – or for revenge.

Or for money. Which she supposed was equally likely, but far more boring.

Now at the point where her curiosity now far outweighed her caution, Ariadne shuffled even closer as she attempted to figure how he had gotten there.

Had that anguished cry been his death-wail?

' _Alright Ariadne, don't worry. It’s just a cadaver, right? You’ve seen plenty of such things before._ ’

It was at the tail-end of that strange thought that Ariadne had lost all her apprehension. Now kneeling at the side of the fallen man, she wondered whether or not it would be appropriate to begin performing death rites.

She knew one, to put to poor souls in the labyrinth to rest. It consisted of a small feast and a dirge for violent deaths that Pasiphae had taught her long ago, before Ariadne had been left to tend the labyrinth herself.

And this man had certainly met a violent end.

The sinews of his neck were drawn tight, revealed by the strange pinning of a plain flowing tunic that seemed pulled loose to expose the source of his woe – an ugly and fatal looking wound on his shoulder. Open and crusted with long spilled blood. Toxic dark lines radiated out from the wound, and his brow was shiny with long cooled sweat. Both of which she thought to be rather odd.

When she reached out to him, she found only coldness to her touch.

After giving up its spirit, a body _should_ stay warm for far longer than this – it seemed impossible for so much heat to have been lost in the short minutes it took for her to approach. Curiously, she picked up the dead weight of his arm, searching for the pooling of deadened blood that would be present for such a cold body.

But the very ease and lack of stiffness when lifting his arm added to her mounting disquiet, and the bottom of his arm showed no signs of the bluish grey and dark reddish mottling of settled blood.

‘ _From what depths of the underworld has this foulness been dredged?_ ' Ariadne wondered, exasperated at her findings.

The earth stank of blood, and wine that had sat too long. Sour and earthy. Just the smell of the foul drink made Ariadne’s head hurt, but not as much as her confusion at that moment. Another smell lingered there too, an earthy sweetness that she had cursed – but there were no flowers in sight.

Asterion’s handiwork had never left one in doubt of what had happened or how instant the death was – _this body only held questions_.

A feeling of deep uncanniness stirred in Ariadne's stomach. To be so strangely cold, only moments after death, was this not some unreality?

He looked young, but anything else was hard to discern with so much hair and so many twigs fallen in front of his brow.

Ariadne reached out a hand to brush his hair back, both out of curiosity and responsibility. She didn't quite have what was needed to prepare his body properly, but _something_ had to be done to give him some dignity as she sang him off.

So she went to move his hair, to untangle the dead vegetation from his strands.

If only she had known how this simple act would change everything. But then and there, Ariadne had no clue at all.

At first all she found was such a softness from his hair that she found herself combing her fingers through to the root, admiring the smooth glide of her fingers along silk as she pulled the dried mess of twigs out of the way. So surprisingly easy―

And then she was struck.

‘ _This face…_ ’

She had expected a gruesome expression, one that revealed the pain of one's final moments. Yet he seemed so at peace.

There were… _thoughts_ in her mind, silly and inane ones for a situation so morbid.

Like how his face seemed to be so strangely ideal. Sharp-cheeked, and hitting in between the fine line of cold symmetricality and warm imperfection.

‘ _Is this what it looks like when someone is unafraid to meet their death?_ _I wonder what sorts of things people have done to see him smile…_ ’

Fear had twisted so many of the faces of the labyrinth youths, their faces had held expressions not easily forgotten.

This man too was not easily forgotten, for much different reasons.

Ariadne thought him so beautiful that a lover might go mad to lose him, and imagined herself a man at war and he her love gone awry, taken too early. Silly fantasies they were, of course. There was no war raging around them, nor enemies to take revenge upon – just a late summer afternoon with a morbidly curious girl and a dead stranger.

‘ _To see such a serene face while filled with grief – would it push me closer to the edge to know what I had lost? Or would his memory pull me back?_ ’

A modest sprinkling of freckles dotted over his sharply carved cheeks and along the ridge of his nose, with a few odd spots upon his brow.

Very cute.

There was a slight chilling realisation in her, as Ariadne considered that her willingness to fawn over this corpse could relate to the way she had so hopelessly been fooled by Theseus. She couldn’t quite say _how_ , but right then it seemed a rather safe bet for her to connect _any_ ill thought about herself as the reasoning for her abandonment.

She felt like such a strange girl sometimes.

‘ _And what of it?_ ’ She thought, putting the ugly feeling within herself down.

To be controlled by those little fears, that had been what the woman marrying Theseus did. She was no longer that woman, and she was determined to find the best of what that meant.

At least she wasn’t in such a poor state as her dead friend here, who seemed to have no business dying alone in the middle of nowhere. It was hard not to imagine him getting into all sorts of trouble – and charming his way out of it.

What then had caused this? Had his luck run out?

 _Apparently not yet_ ―

Silent and mouth agape, she was greeted by two suddenly open eyes that were very green, very alive and fluttering dizzily up at her.

His lips started to move, though no words came from them. Only a harsh wheeze from his throat as a sinking suspicion of unreality held her in place.

' _How―_ ' He hadn't been breathing. Not when she had found him. _She had been so sure_.

A hand raised, reaching toward her as she shouted in terror and scrambled back across the rocky earth. Away from this dead man come alive.

Had his comeliness been a trap? Did he mean to steal her life away to save himself?

 _'He can't have it!_ '

Even if she was alone and abandoned – it was still hers to live! Maybe she'd starve, or be eaten by some wild animal. But she refused for this to be her end.

“ _Wait…_ " He called out, weak and strained by a lack of air.

Begrudgingly, Ariadne was aware that his voice sounded less like a revenant that hungered for flesh, and more like the dead – no – _dying_ man that she had found.

“ _Please…_ ”

Ariadne froze, lip between her teeth and awfully unsure – wondering if this was a trap.

But then - her hand was already reaching out to support him. Though it stopped just before the point of contact. Suddenly hesitant now that she knew this was still a living man, and not a dead one. He could have been dangerous – but prone on his back and dressed in his fine peplos? Ariadne didn't think so, especially with those dream-filled eyes.

She damned every bit that was still left of her soft heart and went to him, and in her warmest voice she hushed him. Her hand threaded into the one that reached for her, and squeezed reassuringly.

He was, at his core, just like her. Deeply hurt and looking for human contact. What kind of person would she be if she just left him to die alone? Bitter as the day and those before it had made her, she _refused_ to become so twisted up inside that she would become so callous.

Emboldened, she leaned in further as more hoarse little noises left his mouth, thinking she could almost make out a word.

“ _Goddess_...”

She didn’t quite think she heard him right.

“I shouldn’t be awake… I shouldn’t. I should be... dreaming.” He blinked twice, before looking toward her with wide hazy eyes. “Am I?”

Why was he asking her?

“What happened?” She whispered as she rested the back of her hand against his forehead, still finding it strangely cold.

“I...” A hand reached up, carefully tracing around the mutilated puncture upon his chest, his eyes wide and surprised. ”I’m not sure…”

A few stray strands of hair had fallen over his eyes, and Ariande reached out to brush them away. She tried to ignore the ignition within her as he leaned into her touch. But it was hard, as the sheer satisfaction he seemed to take as he brought their threaded hands overtop his heart seemed to melt her – a pleasantly bubbly smile erupting over his face. The joints in her hands seemed to numb in sweet tingling pain.

Hadn't she been thinking of the lengths one would go to see such a smile only short moments ago?

“Your touch is too soothing, your gaze brings too much warmth and comfort. Your voice...” He gave the barest implication of his head tipping to the side, as his chin woozily drifted and his mouth fell open in awe.“What pure goddess graces me now in these dying moments of mine?”

She flushed, _realising that she had indeed heard him correctly_.

Embarrassed as she was, she couldn’t help but laugh a bit – it was a strange and funny situation she had found herself in. Every bit beguiling as she had assumed, perhaps he had charmed death himself into letting him linger a little longer on this earth?

“None of them.” Perhaps she was a bit strange, but she was no more divine than any of her siblings – not in any way that mattered. “Do you always say such foolish things? Or is this just death making it so?”

“Both?”

A light laugh escaped Ariadne, and those eyes were seeking her out again. She found herself caught in his fevered stare and pinned in place.

“You can’t fool me.” His hand held her tightly against his chest, no longer limp. “ _You_ are a goddess.”

And _he_ was probably too far gone to even know what direction was up, but Ariadne wasn’t going to say that. He could believe what he wanted when he was this close to death.

She figured she could add this to the growing list of roles she had impersonated poorly – false princess, false betrothed, and now a false idol on top of it all.

With no idea where she was going, or what she should be doing, Ariadne clung to the nebulous knowledge that tending to a dying man was _the right thing_. Though it was undeniable that a part of her was simply glad to have a distraction at all from her unsalvageable mess of a life.

Until he interrupted with a grim question.

“So, are you here to save me, goddess? Or just to watch me die?”

‘ _Oh_ —’

It was rather unfortunate that other than fetching a mouthful of leaves, she was hardly qualified to save _herself_. For all that she could help him after his death – there wasn’t much she could do for him now.

Was this why he so steadfastly clung to his vision of her as a goddess?

How unfortunate that she was mortal – the _barest_ of semi-divines if one wanted to split hairs. Maybe… she should come back later? Ariadne shrank away from him.

She wanted to help – but it wasn’t as if she knew how _._

“ _Please, don't go_.” He rasped, noticing his apparent saviour’s skittishness. The rattling of his laboured aspiration grew strong as he attempted to steady his breathless voice. “Your warmth is more than enough for me.”

“...I- I can’t help you – I’m sorry.” Ariadne shook her head. “I’m so, so sorry – I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Ariadne’s glassy silver was directed into his grass green, as a hand stilled the shaking of her head.

“You didn’t want me to suffer alone… What more must there be?”

His voice was thick, though his tone was simple and matter-of-fact. It _was_ the truth, though she had no clue how he could know that – not to mention the undeniably intimacy of such words! The way he had said it, and the way they _still_ looked at each other even now.

What was this?

Their hands clenched together so tightly, she wasn’t sure who held on tighter. Only that he must be quite polite to have said nothing about the sweat on her palms against his.

It was not a passionate embrace, what with him sprawled almost prone on the ground and her kneeling next to him – but it was just as sustaining. There was something fulfilling in this small point of contact, and there were feelings expressed with those tightly held fingers that neither could quite communicate in words.

She felt blissfully delivered in that moment, before she squashed the feeling.

‘ _I should not burden him. I should not be making this about me._ ’

Blinking quickly to stifle her budding emotion, she focused on the expression on her companion’s face. A look of concern, framed by his expressive brows.

Things had gotten so mixed up!

She was surprised when he rolled his head to the side suddenly, pressing his cheek to her knee for a tender moment before shying away, as if he wished to give her comfort – but wasn’t quite sure how to approach.

Ariadne could relate.

“Who are you?” She asked, wondering what sort of man this was, before whatever had befallen him.

"Zagreus." The information spilled easily from him in what could’ve been a chirp had he the breath for it.

“I wonder if I might guess which goddess you are.”

“Uh – no.”

Had he really meant that?

-

Several long minutes of babbling later, Ariadne wasn’t certain what Zagreus meant, only that he believed in it absolutely.

“I wish the music wasn’t so loud.”

Despite the deathly wheeze in his voice, he had gone on an unimaginably long tangent about a set of blaring pipes, trying to impress upon her their exact tone. It seemed very important to him that she knew about their strange music, and how he never seemed to escape from them.

This was after he had spoken an endless parade of ideas toward her identity, talking of divine women with strange names from far off places – with a few familiar names mixed in.

“Is it Selene’s peaceful afternoon that I’ve interrupted yet again?” Ariadne noted his strangely personal wording.

“Ah – no. Surely not, you look upon me too kindly. I hear… tigers in the distance. I see you surrounded by cats – Durga? But… you're two-armed, and certainly you can’t be here for war...”

‘ _What is a tiger?_ ’ Ariadne wondered, curious of all these new words she had been given.

“Could you be the glorious sun from the foreign steppe, who gave pieces of her body for her people to place in their ground? How could you leave your hearth untended for so long? No… no, it can’t be."

A hearth from the steppe?

“Why not Hestia, if I’m so pure?”

“ _Obviously not_ , her hair is golden! Your hair is dark like the Scythian's sun. Not that it matters – you obviously aren’t her.” The questioning of her purity was seemingly not even worth addressing.

“Who _are_ you?” Zagreus finally asked, confounded.

“Just a girl.” Wriggling upon her heels, Ariadne hoped she would get through to him this time. “And about what you said earlier! I don’t mean to watch you die – I just… thought you had already passed on.”

“Ahhhh – keen to turn me into a plant then? Just like Ampelos?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“He was a person! Or, well, he was a satyr. A very foolish one.” Zagreus sighed. "My love."

“Well.” Ariadne’s brow furrowed as she said the next words, feeling quite foolish herself. “I’m very sorry he’s a plant now. I’m not quite sure what I’d do if that happened.”

‘ _Though…_ ’

The thought of Theseus turning into a plant put a bit of a grin on her face though, especially if he were a rather bug infested one. Her heart felt just a smidge lighter for the thought.

There was something about this man, silly as he was – dying as he was – that comforted her.

The very thing which Ariadne was supposed to be doing for him.

“I only know how to tend to bodies already passed. But please, tell me if there’s anything I can do...” She swallowed. “To ease your passing.”

She felt his thumb stroke up the inside of her wrist, and an anxiety was suddenly born in her chest, frightened and struggling. To offer _anything_ so easily as she just had, Ariadne felt as if she had learned nothing at all. All it took was a flashing glance of his thumb on her skin and she was back in Crete, with the setting sun and another man.

A moment was spent imagining Zagreus there instead of Theseus, pressing kisses to her hands, and promising her every little thing she had been afraid to even begin to want. Thoughts of him doing more, and suddenly she was lost in a daydream.

-

_Clothed in that same white chiton, bathed and anointed – only wearing a bubbly grin instead of a self-assured one. Not the golden haired Athenian, but freckled Zagreus._

_Only in her daydream, he doesn’t stand up as Theseus did. No, Zagreus would remain on his knees happily, and press his cheek to her thighs in affection. In this dream, he looked up at her with adoring eyes as he professed a desire to worship her._

_His goddess._

_What sorts of things would he offer her, just that she might let him touch her? What sort of charming foolish words would he use to convince? Ariadne felt a light throb and a responding clench in her core at the vision. At the thought of making him hold out as long as she could, just to see him squirm._

_Even if all that she desired was to experience his adoring touch, she would hold out until he presented her the breadth of his desire. All the mad little things he would offer – simply for permission._

_And as long as he asked her sweetly enough, she would let them both indulge._

_-_

The man’s face screwed in frustration, suddenly unsure of himself. “Tell me your name?”

"Ariadne." She answered quickly, cheeks flushed.

‘ _Am I a pervert?’_ She wondered, never having had to ask herself that question before. But if she was, she wouldn’t let on. She let go of the breath she hadn't even realised she was holding, uncomfortable with her thoughts. It seemed wrong to her, using him as such an object.

“A fitting name for one so pure.” A few dry laughs escaped him, only partially interrupted by coughs. “So sacred, I _should_ worship you like a goddess―”

Her face flushed at the words, as she began to speak quickly.

“No! No longer, I don’t want to be called that any longer. I am just a girl! Nothing more.”

Her cheeks now coloured as his brazen assessment of her, rather than her own lewd day dreams. _How wrong he was_. As if anybody’s name was really so literal. As if she were anything but cursed.

‘ _It meant little before, and it means even less now_.’

Letting out a sigh, Ariadne composed herself enough to make a point.

“Are you much of a hunter, Zagreus?”

“Snail farmer actually.” He blinked, and lost himself for a second. “No, wait… That’s not quite right… After Ampelos died I – I…”

Ariadne had been _about_ to make a point about how his name happened to mean _hunter_ , rather than _one who milks snails for purple_ – but his silence concerned her.

He was so lost in thought now or more likely in memories, that she dared not disturb him. Ariadne had heard from her mother that it was common for people to see their life passing before them as they prepared to pass along with their memories.

Was he close now?

The dying man spoke of warmth, of the sun. Ariadne’s brow furrowed, the business of names forgotten. She wanted to ask him more before he was gone. Not just about this foreign sun – but about this island, and who he was. Where they were, and how he got here.

Most importantly—

“How are you still alive?”

A fair question at this point – the sun had started to set, and they had spoken for so long that Ariadne barely noticed how his voice no longer wavered.

“Well, if you dosed me up on some poppies like a good little death priestess, I wouldn’t be.”

Tired of voicing her dismay at his assumptions about her identity, Ariadne simply stared at him unamused.

“ _Well_ , if you’re not a goddess.” A brief amount of eye contact from the man, and an incredibly frustrating wink confirmed that he wasn’t taking her seriously. As if he thought this was some game. “You must be sent by one. Did the lady of snakes send you to accompany me along this painful end? To numb me out until I go _whoosh_ , and _he_ comes back again?”

He tucked a finger into the ornamental rings that hung from her girdle, tugging on it every so lightly. The look on his face told her that it took every bit of exertion from Zagreus to achieve it.

“I _do_ recognise this, now that I think of it.” He was running a thumb over the shining surface, the golden afternoon reflecting in the silver.

“And this too. I recognise this.”

He wasn’t looking at the shining metal adorning her waist though, but toward her navel.

There was a trembling in his voice and in the touch of his hand as she felt his palm upon her abdomen. An invisible line was traced and curved around her belly button. Ariadne gasped lightly as she fought both her ticklish nature and her reaction to such gentle touches. Intimate ones.

“Who is _he_? You said _he_ would be coming back.” Ariadne spoke in a frantic voice, changing the subject from what he so intently stared at with those hazy eyes. “The man who did this to you?”

“No – not him. _Me_ , I think. Maybe.” Speaking nonsense again. Ariadne looked on, as his face filled with confusion. “What was I saying?”

“You were trying to guess who I am again.” Best not to bring up the poppies. Not that she blamed him, this close to death.

“I suppose I _do_ already know. Hhhm… Ari-ad-ne. Ariadne.” Over and over he said it, letting it roll across his tongue experimentally, as if he were trying to feel it as he spoke. A strange look of clarity came over him, a sort of realisation.

He sighed.

" _Fine_. So you aren’t a goddess, and I’m just a poor asshole that you’ve decided to take pity on.” He tugged at her hands again, and as he brought them towards his face, he pressed a light and affectionate kiss to their bunched fingers. “It doesn’t mean you aren’t something pure… something remarkable.”

Really?

“I can tell.”

_Really?_

“Well, obviously I’m not _normal_. I wouldn’t be here if I was.” Chin buried in her chest, Ariadne thought a bitter truth. “You think it’s something good? You just see what you want to see."

' _It goes both ways, doesn't it? All I see is his pretty face, and all I hear are foolish words. If he had the chance..._ '

“You’re just as bad as him.” It wasn’t a statement that strictly made sense, _or one that Zagreus would even have the context for_ – but the words made their way out of her mouth nonetheless.

"What do you want me to see?"

Want? She had no clue – but she knew what he _should_ see.

"Nothing special."

“Truly? I don't believe that. Tell me about yourself.”

‘ _Arrogant man_.’

How could he understand what it felt to be left here by Theseus, without hearing about all that had come before? His vision of a goodhearted girl would change at once, she was sure.

But the closer she held these things to her chest, the more he would push her. Men were like that, she was learning.

So Ariadne offered him the barest explanation.

“I am a woman who has nothing.”

He laughed, most definitely _at_ her rather than with her.

"Nothing? How can you say you have nothing when you are covered in precious metals? In pearls? That purple of your peplos isn’t _nothing_. You’re definitely _someone_.”

“Yes, how very lucky I am.” Ariadne bit out through grinding teeth. “I should be very glad that all that was taken from me when I was left here was my sister, and an offer of marriage.”

She quite wished to stop talking about herself now, _please_.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You know, if I _was_ a goddess.” She interrupted, as bitterness grew roots in her stomach. “No one would abandon me here… and if they did? They would be busy regretting what they did.”

She remembered the sight Tabitae overtop Minos, pieces of him flaking away and disappearing to the heat long before Tabitae’s slaggy spew could even spread out, so hot that it pierced like a knife as gravity brought it to the ground.

Theseus didn’t quite deserve that but―

“I wouldn’t be upset if he was turned into a plant.” She stated flatly. “Or anything really, so long as it might make him burn with some form of regret...”

“What happened to you, Ariadne?” Zagreus asked her, more than a simple note of concern in his voice.

“It’s a rather long story.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. Perhaps a story from you is all I need to... fall asleep.”

“Double the reason that I shouldn’t then.” Was it so bad she wanted him to hang on just a little longer? His company was the best she’d had in days, really – and a big part of that was that she got to be _someone else_. “Besides, I… don’t like the person who I am in this story.”

“I'm not one to judge?” Zagreus implored as Ariadne flinched, waiting for more attempts to cajole her, for him to invoke his imminent death to force her to open up.

Yet nothing came.

“It’s up to you.”

Was it?

“Uhm. Well – _promise_ you won’t think me evil for what I’ve done.”

“I won’t.”

-

The evening was almost upon them now.

All throughout her tale, she imagined that Zagreus would often interrupt her with some conjecture, some questioning of what she had done – or perhaps a relapse out of lucidity. But he simply laid there as he listened to her speak.

What little he _did_ add told her far more about him than it did to question what she had done.

For instance, she learned that Zagreus too was from Crete – though he seemed to have little idea of what had been going on in Knossos. _Or that he was even on another island_.

"The queen is a _witch_?" He spoke excitedly, more in elated glee than in fearful awe.

It was as if he had lived under a rock for the last few decades, though Ariadne didn’t mind. It meant, at least, he had no concept of the rumors that swirled around the palace.

However, his surprise at such basic things made her ill prepared for the relative ease at which he took others. She spent a good long while attempting to explain that Asterion was a man and not a monster before she realised that Zagreus hadn’t even questioned her on the fact.

“...You don’t seem very surprised.”

“Should I be?”

“I mean, he has – _had_ the head of a bull. And a tail! That’s not… _normal_. Do you not believe me?”

She hated to describe Asterion in such a way, but she had to make sure Zagreus understood her. As much as she truly wanted to believe him unphased, she could not believe it.

"Being a bull-jumper? It surprises me a little. Cretan men are simply fated to feel so brave over our mastery of cattle that we spite the gods like idiots, only it resulted in your brother's existence rather than the customary gorey death. But, more than that..." He shook his head. “Ampelos wasn’t human – but I loved that _man_ all the same. No presence of horns or fur will ever dissuade me from that.”

And that was that, apparently, at least for that topic.

There _was_ a moment where Zagreus looked as if he wanted to say something while Ariadne recounted her _night_ with Theseus. As if he were uncomfortable, although she tried to keep her description sparse.

She told him that Theseus asked to _pretend they were married_ for a short spell, her eyes averted. And that, _of course she could only say yes_.

But before he could even _begin_ to question, she moved the conversation along, talking about the revelations of her parentage, and the conspiracies of her mother and Catreus.

The rest of the story followed from there rather quickly.

“You don’t think he regrets leaving you here?" The look in Zagreus's eyes seemed so pure to Ariadne, as if he could not imagine such a thing. "How could he not?”

‘ _Oh, Zagreus. You_ _poor, foolish, and feverish man._ ’

“Why should he? If you were to see him now, I’m sure you’d wonder what he was doing with someone like me…”

"I see you now, and I know I would want to watch him choke. Consumed by vines that plucked at his psyche and followed by these damned blasted horns until he screamed his apology to the heavens for all to hear." Zagreus coughed. "That's just me though."

These were not the sort of departure from lucidity she expected. _Such violence_. It was strange to hear from this beautiful man, who had been only gentle to her so far.

“I know that you told me you were just a girl – _nothing special_. And yet here you are! A princess and the daughter of a goddess. It makes me wonder why you were so determined for me not to call you one."

“She was a _nymph,_ not a goddess. Much like I am a _bastard_ , and not a princess."

"It all seems like semantics from my perspective, to be honest."

And what could she really say to that?

“He’s an idiot.” He smiled toothily as Ariadne scowled at him. “I’d marry you right here and now if you’d let me.”

“How encouraging." Biting her lip, Ariadne let a bit more truth flow out from her. “As sweet as you are, I’m not really sure I want your pity – not to mention the, uhm… _obvious_.”

That he was dying, for one. But why not play along a bit?

“After all, there’s no one here to bless us.” She shrugged. “What should I say when people ask about our feast, or how you won my father's consent?"

"You don't have a father."

"Still!" Exasperated, she laughed bitterly. “It’s just – well, you're the third person in as many days to propose, and you make the least sense of them all! Why! Just to make me feel better?"

“I am serious, you know."

He hesitated for a second before he spoke again, as he seemed to need to place his words delicately.

“Just, I understand why you would keep that close to your chest… and the tail end of that only happened this _morning_? I don't know why you didn't tear me apart the minute you saw me reaching for you."

"That seems extreme for someone I don't know..."

"So honest." She felt him give a tight squeeze on her hand as he spoke, finding some little reserve of strength in himself as he spoke next. "All I mean to say is that you seem so set on not being a princess, I just wondered if you wouldn’t mind being a snail farmer’s widow?”

Ariadne was taken aback. This _wasn't_ some last minute attempt at professing affection, or superficial form of comfort? _He meant to give her an identity_?

But surely it wasn't so easy.

“And how should I explain my fine clothing?” The clothing he had so quickly fixated upon, that Ariadne hadn't even thought to realise made her so obviously out of place.

“Perhaps I met my end buying you so many fine things, and my pockets ran dry."

“I’d never asked for that…” Ariadne frowned, disliking the image such a scenario painted upon her.

“Ah– all the better! A lovely wife who never wanted for such luxuries, and her poor besotted husband who could not help but want to spoil her yet still.”

' _Much nicer_.' Ariadne thought.

But Zagreus was paused, as he seemed to need a little more for the tale he wove. One more piece of drama.

“And that’s why you continue to wear such fine things, even if you never asked for them. _To remember me by!_ " He spoke so fervently, it was as if he really _was_ that poor alternate version of himself, in love with her.

It was tempting to lose herself in this story, more than just as a cover were she to find anyone else on this island. What a wonderful lie it would be.

“It can’t be that easy, can it? We just _say_ we’re married and we are?”

“Maybe a princess needs permission. Do you?”

“I suppose I don’t.” Ariadne took in a large shaky breath, barely able to contain her excitement.

"So then, what do you say?"

“Alright. Let's be married then, if it's so easy."

She paused for several moments after, thinking that uttering the words might bring about some feeling, some physical change within her. But there was nothing.

"Uhm. So we _are_ married now, yes? That's all it took?"

"Yup."

And, for a little bit, things really were so simple.

In the grand scheme of things – _no_ – it wasn't. But more important the reality of their situation, was the belief born in both of them. A belief that for short amount of time _it could be_. At the very least, she knew this memory would stick closer to her than the last she had made under the setting sun, _the one she made with Theseus_.

Overwritten.

-

Alas, that their matrimony was as fleeting as the day.

She could barely see Zagreus now.

The sun had left them, and it was only by the light of the moon that she could make out his face. She wanted to fetch her thread, and use it as light – but that would have involved letting go of his hands.

 _She couldn't_.

Ariadne was afraid that if she were to lose her grip on Zagreus now, that would be the last she felt of him. He was far from the strange and lively man he’d been that afternoon with eyes wide and wild.

Now his eyes drifted closed far longer than they were open, and his talkativeness had waned too. So long had they sat together in silence, she was surprised by the soft cough that interrupted the silence between them.

“I wonder… would you let me lay my head upon you, sweet wife of mine?”

“S-sorry?”

Despite their _marriage_ , and that brief spell of fear as she offered him comfort, she hadn’t thought he’d want to _actually_ play at this.

“I always told my love that I’d die with my head upon a pair of soft thighs. I thought it would be Ampelos’s – but…”

She hadn’t needed much reason to acquiesce to what he wanted anyway. Not when her time with him seemed to be coming to an end. But Zagreus and sweet little reasonings made it so easy.

“Ah – I suppose you’ll have to make do with your wife then.” She spoke softly, letting go of him for just a moment as she moved herself behind him, careful as she lifted his head. As soon as they were settled, she made out his hand in the dark, reaching out for her. She smiled softly to herself as she took his hands into her own yet again. One last time.

And now she was attached in more ways than their funny little marriage, _she felt for him_. Looking down into Zagreus and his frustratingly serene face and knowing he was close was torture.

Watching life leave Zagreus’s body now, Ariadne felt a sharpness inside her, a sort of closure for the death of Asterion. After all, she had never seen the body, had never been there to see life leave him.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, sounding like he had when they met at first. Barely able to speak, and his voice sombre.

 _She wanted him to live_.

“I’m fine. Just rather sorry my legs aren’t as fluffy as your satyr’s.” The fingers threaded with hers were still so cold. “I’m more worried about you.”

“You don’t know me…” He smiled. “Not really, anyway. Why look so sad because of a stranger?”

“I guess it’s a bad habit I seem to have picked up.” She noted sadly, though she managed to muster up a little light-heartedness for him. “Besides, you’re no stranger. After our afternoon together? Hardly! Don’t forget, you’re my _husband_.”

“I’m glad to have left such an impression.” He gave a soft sigh as he turned his face into her lap. “I’m sorry…”

She felt his fingers shaking, his grip loosening―

“ _Please don’t leave me._ ” She whispered.

But Zagreus was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! :p This one ended up taking a lot longer than I thought, so I hope you enjoy this nice fluffy beach episode. Next chapter's gonna be a fun time. Which is to say, not at all for my protagonists. >>
> 
> Also: Some art I ended up not using in this chapter!
> 
> If anyone wants to hit me up and peruse some art I have drawn, I got a Discord server right over [here](https://discord.gg/2cdDzPb). I post updates on my art stuff there, including some in progress stuff sometimes.


	8. The One Where It Sprouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariadne and Dionysus have the first of many very long talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bakkheia
> 
> ba·kkhe·ia  
> /bækeɪjə/
> 
> The state ecstasy and frenzy that is entered by worshippers of the mysteries of Dionysus. Said to be one of pure truth, as one is separated from all self conscious thought.

𐄒𐄈

_a displaced soul_

_Wine and shadow. Then, rain and blood._

_To return to life in the body you left it in was unnatural, especially when one was so nicely settled into the numbness of death._

_An infant did not have to quarrel with the knowledge of what was left behind when it was birthed, unable to perceive beyond the immensity of existence as it was._

_Dionysus was a jealous soul for that._

_His wounds were soothed, and his bones were reformed. The flesh had finally been deemed ready to accept its owner back into the fold, and eyes opened to find dark clouds above and stone below, the stink of death all around._

_At once he felt_ **_too much_** _, as things inside wanted only to burst out of his skin. Leaves and branches which threatened to rend through flesh, as he would turn himself into an effigy of thorny undiscerning wrath. His heart pounded with desire – but if he gave in, the source of this inescapable emotion would have him tumbling back into the underworld just as soon as he returned. It would have him ripped apart to birth his revenge, and sacrifice his own body in order to feed it._

 _He needed to remember – and his throat seized as the memory jumped to his recollection. He remembered for an instant the phantom pain of his fatal impact and knew where he was,_ **_who_** _had brought him here._

_He could feel so many of those who had perished here before him._

_A hissing spitting hate fluttered to life inside him, and his perception was born anew. Piercing vines threatened to slip loose from his skin as they moved underneath his chest. But with great effort, Dionysus pushed the poisonous thoughts away and let them wash away from him with the rain._

_He loved the rain. Loved the sensation – yet feeling it drip against his bare head alerted him to the fact that he had been_ **_shorn_ ** _._

_It was a strange sensation, regaining memories bit by bit as parts of him came alive. Memories of men standing above him by light of lamp, and a voice both his and not. The same voice that haunted him on his long walk. A broken feeble shade of himself, pleading for help before being met with the tip of a spear. The edge of a razor along his scalp as he bled out again._

_They had not come to save him. They had come to fetch their prize. A body, to show that he was just a man. A son of Zeus would not perish so easily! Or so they would say. Yet even when finding their man not quite dead, they took something to have their proof._

_His crown was missing._ **_His Ampelos._ **

_It was never a question of who he was, or who his mother was. No question of the blood he shared with the Theban royalty. But rather the subject of his_ **_father_ ** _– of Semele's lack of honour._

_All sorts of things Pentheus had spread about her. His mother's own blood spread the notion that Semele had defiled her own purity. As if her death was her punishment for her lies, delivered by Zeus himself. That’s what they said._

_Pentheus had revealed as they crested the cliff._

_Semele would never know, not from Dionysus at least. She could listen to any of his own sorrow, but he would never let on he had ever heard such awful things._

_How naive was he, to somehow think all it would take was a drink, and a couple words for Thebes to welcome him? At least as naive as Pentheus, to think it would be so easy to be rid of him._

_They couldn't understand what had happened, so they forged stories to explain it. How funny that was, when they were all forged from beliefs of men to begin with. Not that they could understand – they only feared him for it._ **_And so they should, for how they had transgressed against him_ ** _. His mind was empty of reason, left only with a will to carry out this wrath._

_Ichor brought to boil the constant state of frenzy that swirled inside of him as he tried to suppress it._

_He failed._

_Was it any surprise, looking at those around him?_

_He had never met them – not face to face – but he recognised them all the same. Some wore fawn skin and translucent robes, with effigies of snakes woven into their hair. Others were less obvious in their affiliations, dreamers who only could have only hoped of running off. There were even some who were only simple keepers of vineyards._

_A few even held no faith for him – just a poor soul caught in the wrong place, around a mob filled with fervor._

_All gone. Never to return – though they whispered to him. Seething around him as the calming sound of the Styx turned into a rushing torrent, full of a downpour of emotion from the vengeful dead and fat as a river with winter rain._

_His heart was a drum pacing endlessly in that moment, and he felt bereft of his personhood. Was it his blood guiding him? Or the angry souls here that spurned him? He couldn’t know._

_He could not set himself loose upon Thebes, not like his body yearned to. Those choking vines with their piercing thorns would spare nothing. But that was not the only way he could fill this city with his wrath..._

_Dionysus stumbled forth, feet sliding against slick stone before he reached the sodden earth. As he went, sprouts shot up all around him. He beheld Thebes in front of him, and even further out, the lake. Falling to his knees, his hands sunk into the mud, and he sent his wrathful influence out into dirt._

_Frenzy poured from his overflowing cup of violent ecstasy, and he felt neither human nor divine. But rather, like a tool. An instrument of will lashing out. His own – the dead’s – the people of Thebes. They all melded together, swirling inside of him as they all fell to the passionate temptation of his blood._

_He waited then, naked but for the pelt of a leopard now thrown over his shoulder. A throne of vines sprang from the earth for him to lounge on. Hair tangled into the roots, he drank his fill of nectar that could not phase him. Reclined, he looked equal parts bored and crazed with his skin still covered in mud. That was the sight which greeted his violent revelers as they flooded in, an agitated parade of new faces delivering his prize. His cousin, the king._

_Dionysus felt on the edge of triumph – the sort that would haunt him once this was all over – smiling as they lashed Pentheus to a tree before him._

_Smiling as his aunt began the ritual, and tore her son limb from limb. Even Pentheus, in the throes of death and madness, cheered for his demise alongside those who tore at him._ **_All_ ** _hungered for his death that night, and this violence was their feast. For all were lost to bakkheia and their wildest and most fervent desires._

_And when it was done? They danced the night away to the beat of invisible drums, and screamed at the moon._

_-_

Finally free of Eros’s poison, no pain lingered as Dionysus awoke to the sound of soft weeping. A wet droplet landed on his cheek.

He could feel arms around him, shuddering in time with sobs. Eyes opened, and his mouth followed in turn as it formed a silent _o_ at the sight of who it was that mourned him. Even shrouded in fallen hair and darkness, he knew who it was. Who it had to be.

 _Ariadne –_ struggling to sing a sad old dirge through tears. The words came out half mumbled, her eyes red and raw and her nose drippy. And yet the sight of it lifted his heart, because she did it for him.

A teardrop collected at the edge of her chin, and he watched it become fat. A tender sprout birthed itself from the ground, reaching for Ariadne to wipe it away – only for Dionysus to grit his teeth, and stop it in its tracks.

He could still see the pearls _he_ had strewn in her hair, catching the light of the moon and _something else_. And he was shocked to see that very accursed thread strewn all around them freely. Her yarn since she was young – and a thread of fate itself if Athena was to be believed. ( _But how did he know that first part?_ )

Ariadne owed him nothing, and yet it was her that embraced him, warming his pallid flesh. _Her_ eyes which wrenched shut in sorrow. 

_For him?_

Mourned as a stranger. Had he ever woken from the underworld to such a thing?

There was an old familiar feeling beneath his skin, readjusting the endless frenzy beneath as concepts of anger and retribution seemed far away. Whatever ideas he had to run in search of Eros for revenge – _or off Athens to do worse –_ left. In their place was a warmth, like awe and gratitude but not. Something which Dionysus feared to name, and that he would have buried deep inside him, if not for the frenzy that forced him to confront it.

‘ _Infatuation. How disgustingly refreshing._ ’

It was a frenzy that refused to leave him, even if his reason for anger had fled him at the moment. Even as his body was only just beginning to redevelop immunity to his sweetened ichor, Dionysus still felt strange things stirring underneath it all – growing.

He wanted to laugh, knowing that for any other man such a thing might be a euphemism for his loins. But no – that would be far easier to subdue than what his body _really_ wished to do. His heart was full, positively budding. The smell of flowers was sweet in his nose, and bitter on his tongue.

If he could not escape when wrath filled him, how could he escape this? Dionysus needed _somewhere_ to store these bursting emotions – or he would start sputtering petals, or worse burst into flowers right in front of her.

He winced as he put a part of himself inside the earth, and loosened his manic influence upon the tangled mass of roots beneath them. He felt them swell into flowers and to seed. Down on the beach, sea daffodils burst out through the sand, and matured into florescences. The grass thickened and reached out to the both of them until Dionysus cut himself short. What little he had loosened of his _bakkheia_ into the plants around them, he hoped that was enough to tide over the madness boiling underneath his skin.

And then she saw him, and the shock of his very-much-living self put a stop to her sobs but for a few loose sputters that she tried to contain. Mouth agape, he flinched, waiting for a shout to start. But instead of eyes that widened in horror, she was instantly filled with joy.

“You’ve tricked me again!" She exclaimed cheerfully, rubbing her face free of the tears and snot she had been crying out so shortly beforehand. “Where has your wound gone?"

Sniffles morphed into a gasp of shocked glee as she laughed – and happiness beamed from her as her silver eyes caught the light just so.

How could any wrath find footing in the maddened god’s heart at such a sight? No manner of frenzy could block this light from slipping through, and no ill will could manifest itself when he was so assaulted by her expression. What had he done to deserve such tenderness? 

He experienced a slight trickle of memories, ones of the ebbing pain of hydra venom, and her companionship.

' _What did we tell her?_ ' Dionysus wondered, though he found his arms winding around Ariadne to grasp her just as tightly as she did him.

Had she truly interacted with that barest trace of him, while he was with his mother? _That_ was panic inducing, even if it had been the key to his escape right now. His lack of wrath to sow upon the world.

In his memory, only Rhea had succeeded in purifying his madness – though she had _dispelled_ the shade of Zagreus, rather than communed. To know that Ariadne had done it too was not something he could push away lightly. To keep away those ugly feelings, even if all it required was simple kindness to that bloody soul? It meant everything to him.

Yet she was happy just to see him. That he was alive – it seemed that was all she needed to lighten her burden. Had he not desperately wished to do that only the night before _? She still deserved more._

A wild thought passed through him, a nervous stabbing worry. Those leftovers that sustained his form – _was that really him?_ What if he had worn another's face without even knowing? Dionysus and his frenzy needed desperately for Ariadne's joy to be at the sight of him, and him alone.

Not for forever – just for now. The night was hard and cold, and she was soft and warm...

"Ariadne… who am I?"

He ran a shaking hand through his hair to combat the itch that consumed his scalp, and was shocked to find it empty of foliage. _Where was his Ampelos?_

It seemed for every bit of this experience that felt so startlingly right, there was something unsettling and wrong. No matter how wonderful it was to return to life without the awful morass of violent emotion he was used to, he couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't be here with Ariadne. Not like this, crownless and surrounded with glowing thread. Limbs entwined, with not a lick fear or surprise on her face.

"Who do you think?" She spoke lightly, through a cheeky smile. "No one would ask me such a silly question except for you."

 _Silly_. It described him nicely, at times – but was silliness all she had to worry about right then?

Even if he was not driven to inspire the rending of flesh like grapes, Dionysus could feel _something_ taking root in his heart and sprouting into his lungs. He was still a living and breathing agent of will, made to express. To act. And right then he acted on his anxiety as he reached out to Ariadne, eyes wild. He needed to know who she believed he was. He needed to stop pretending. Or continue – _he wasn't sure_.

“Who am I _?_ ”

“My husband, of course!” She burst into a fit of girlish laughter, light and teasing.

Her – _what –_

" _No!_ ” He shouted, shocked as his fist pounded into the earth next to them. Already? _Already?!_

Is this what Eros had meant by vulnerability? _Letting his brainless self go ahead and muck up every little plan that he had_? But looking at Ariadne, Dionysus filled with shame. Her lightness had broken in front of him. He saw it in the slight furrow of her brow, and the trembling in the corner of her mouth. All because he could not control his outburst.

She spoke quickly, before Dionysus could even attempt to gather any wits about him and quell what he had caused.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to take me so seriously.” Her smile was nervous now, stretched thin. “It was only a joke! I wouldn't hold you to such a thing – I know that was never your intention when you proposed..."

She trailed off. He sat up from the softness that he realised was her thigh, out of her arms for just a moment before he faced her. Even bent on his knees she was small beneath him, and his eyes fixed on that accursed thread inside her once again.

"I'm just so happy you're back…" The earnestness of her voice, it almost set him leaping. As if he could repay her kindness by making whatever he had proposed or promised in that half-life state somehow _more_ than real. But – _no._

He needed to be careful, _he was leaking_. Influence spilled out of him in flares and bursts like the overfull cup he was, and nothing at all was stopping Ariadne from soaking it in at a touch. The thyme and the brush around them certainly did, and he felt them distantly expanding outward.

But Dionysus was taken aback, asAriadne cupped his cheek with a familiar intimacy and drew him closer to meet her gaze. The memory of her touch in that in-between state of not quite living lingered. He remembered how spoiled he had been, with her hands running through his hair. Laid upon her lap.

“Why would I hold you to promises made on a deathbed?" She whispered, before lips pressed to his forehead. “It was never meant to be like this anyway. Don’t worry about me, Zagreus.”

 _That name_.

It was the punch to the gut he had been waiting for. Because _of course_ , he was not allowed a single moment without being reminded of that damned past life of his.

Dionysus was wearing his own face, and _still_ Ariadne saw another. (And she would _always_ see him instead, Dionysus was sure.) Someone who was him – but not. _That_ was the person who she was so happy to see alive again – _the husband she had hoped to keep_.

Ariadne was not so good at hiding things as she might have hoped, much as she tried with words that no longer shook and a steady face. What she held in her heart, at least, was obvious enough to him.

“I’m not – ”

“I know you aren’t my husband!” She interrupted, cutting his words off frantically. An embarrassed flush started to raise in her face as she let go of his cheek. “I told you, it’s not a problem Zagreus.”

"But I’m not Zagreus!" He seethed, and Ariadne jolted from him.

She looked at him with concern, but not panick. How was he not breaking her wonderful shining perception of him, maddened as he was now? Of course, he knew the answer – she didn't expect lucidity from him.

"What do you mean?" Ariadne asked, hungry for an explanation. Or for a game to play along with – he wasn't sure. "Who would you be then?"

Dionysus took stock of his sins against her.

He had lied to her, had taken liberties with her body that she only allowed him because he wore Theseus's face. He had made decisions about her fate, because he had only been concerned with circumventing it. _He had not even_ _asked her_ – and had acted as selfishly as any of his divine family would have when it came to a mortal’s life.

The only honest interaction she had with him, even if it was purely technicality? _That was with Zagreus_. Oh, sure, he had not _meant_ to act like a fool. He had not meant for his dead self to be her comfort as she was his. But would she believe that? Did he want to risk finding out?

One kiss had felled her, only a day and a bit before. He could do it again, easily. Fill her with impure intoxication ‘til she succumbed to sleep, and all that she had seen on that day he could convince her were dreams! They could start again, and there would be no worrying about who he wasn’t. No worrying about lies of his identity that he had not even meant to tell.

He could make up for it later – walk all the way to Eleusis barefoot and alone, and promise Persephone whatever she wished to give Ariadne's brother greatness in death. Or at least make sure he did not rot in Tartarus.

Eros and Apollo could go get _fucked_ with their stupid prophecies – because he felt cheated.

For all his figurative flailing around in this situation, somewhere deep inside? Dionysus had looked forward to the possibility of his sweet defeat to the Fate's designs. Much as he resisted and rankled at predestination – he had hoped his loss would come at the hands of his heart rather than some technicality...

But then, was that right? Hadn't his heart already quickened, and did he not already miss her arms around him? He just wanted her touch again – platonic or otherwise.

There was a screeching interruption to his thoughts, as he knew already that he was interested in more than that. It _had_ to be different now, if he were to kiss Ariadne. To be taken in her arms, and her in his. It had to be different, because he knew more about her than just her unfortunate circumstance and what he saw intrigued him. She was not just a poor soul he hoped to give a place in this world, but someone who had been there for him. _One of the only who had been in all his deaths._

Perhaps Eros had his points.

Ones which Dionysus might be willing to acknowledge, _after the two of them came to a violent understanding about his boundaries_.

Their grudge hid itself now, as more pleasant emotions overwhelmed the god. But even that birthed a fury in his stomach. Strong enough that Dionysus immediately poured more of his power into the ground, for worry of what he might do. He felt those thorns pricking inside him – and pushed himself harder, until there was nothing. Far off, a poor Naxian farmer would wake up to groves of olive trees ripened black, far earlier than the season should have allowed.

He needed to be at least somewhat in his right mind if he wanted to get this right.

Palms set upon the soft skin of her cheeks, Dionysus tracked the soft curve of her chin up to the gentle slope of her nose before he met her eyes – _looking back at him with want._ That much was clear. Even though she had no clue of who he really was, she was captivated by his smooth flawless face and intangible influence all the same as the rest. Or was it the sweet words that _Zagreus_ had whispered to her? 

‘ _Those are just dead memories.'_

She needed to forget this. She needed to forget _him_ , because that was the only way Dionysus saw himself escaping this nightmare. 

They would start over – and she would have no shade to compare him to each time their eyes met. After it was all done he would come clean, and she could hate him if she wanted. But she would know _him_.

The way she flushed and her lips parted? They both knew what was going to happen next. There were so many things that made Ariadne her own. But it was in this way she was like so many others, unable to resist a taste of divinity.

_But –_ she had no clue of who he really was, no intent. He had to remember that! To read anything else into it was to be a slave to his mind simmering into oblivion. In her eyes, he was only a simple mortal man. A funny one who wouldn’t stay dead, but still mundane...

Wouldn't it be more simple for them, if he could just be who she wanted?

Ah – too bad for them both.

That in mind, a funny throbbing in the pit of his stomach was born at the feel of Ariadne’s eyelashes against his cheek. Close enough to smell her now, an impossible thought came into his head. _That she smelled like sunshine._

He had no other way to express it. Nothing grounded in reality that could be anything more than a bare comparison. And Dionysus wondered what this light of the sun would taste like too, as he leaned in to deliver that fell kiss.

And met instead the skin of Ariadne’s cheek.

-

𐄒𐄉

_the ivy bearer_

There was a small shy smirk upon Ariadne's face as she imagined the sort of look Zagreus must have at that moment. _Her not-husband_. 

She hoped he wouldn’t take this the wrong way – she only wished to tease him. But despite his odd words, and the way she had ruffled at his overreaction to her jape about their _marriage_? Ariadne was positively giddy with hope. What they had called a marriage had been only a foothold for a poor lost girl, all alone.

But now she wasn't! Life was strange, and Zagreus had tricked death _again_. Her heart was heavy with hope for the future for all that had already defied the impossible, and the night was still young.

At that moment, Ariadne felt like life's potential was limitless—

A gasp escaped her, as there was a short swipe of _something_ against her cheek. A tongue. A hot wet lick that terminated at her jaw.

Ariadne yelped in surprise, as a sparking numbness was left in its wake. Blinking, for a moment she thought she experienced the same double vision she had seen in the Lord Area. Both a flock of birds and a flurry of arrows, dressed in two garbs. Two sights in one. Which was – _curious?_

It was only Zagreus in front of her but… were those horns she could see? No – of course not. Ariadne was sure she was seeing things.

As uneasy as that made her, it was no effort to push away such thoughts when she focused on _him_. This sweet living person, forehead deep in her neck.

"Did you just lick me? _"_

"I – yes? Wait- my head is clear! _What?_ Holy shit. I – I just tried to… to…" His murmurs were shallow breaths that washed warmth into the nape of her neck, sending pleasant little tingles down Ariadne's back. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“It is not unforgivable…”

Ariadne sucked in a breath. Stars formed at the corner of her vision and popped away, as a warmth spread itself out from her belly. As if she had taken a deep pull of some strong wine – drunk on her own happiness. Like she was a new Ariadne now, who would bloom before Zagreus. She felt it inside of her, a new desperate feeling wishing to escape and flower with him. “Uhm – I just thought that you would have asked permission first.”

Whether he held her hand or laid in her lap, Zagreus had always sought to ask first. Wild and feverish as the words he spoke happened to be, he had not forced Ariadne into a choice. But seeing him nestled now in the crook of her neck for comfort, shaking his head, she sighed a bit in relief. _This_ was familiar.

“Ask?” A bitter laugh escaped him then, the air rushing down the skin of her back again, stirring sensation. "Can I kiss you, Ariadne? Would you say _yes_ if I told you it would help you forget everything?”

“I don’t know.” What did Zagreus think was so awful about their situation? Perhaps they still had no clue where they were or where they were going, but they had each other. Ariadne treasured that more than much else in life.

“What is wrong that forgetting would fix? Why would I _want_ to forget?" Ariadne felt entirely out of her element, but she wanted so much to be honest with him. "If I kiss you, I would want to remember…"

"You'll hate me if I don't! _"_ He whined turning onto his side away from her – but not shying away when Ariadne pressed up behind him, resting her chin upon his shoulder.

“Why?” Ariadne inquired as she brought a shy finger to his flesh. Where his wound had once been. Smooth and unblemished, with not even a whisper of a scar. It was queer, but then so much about this situation was. “Tell me.”

“How do you think I came back from the _dead_ , Ariadne?”

She was almost embarrassed to admit the foolish story she had crafted in her head. That she had felt giddy and high to see him – because _she thought she had willed it_. Ariadne had always treasured a great hope that something more of Pasiphae's power would manifest in her. She had hoped perhaps this had finally been _it._

Singing about his return to the great mother's embrace in the underworld, Ariadne's will had wailed inward as she begged to have him back. Not for forever – just for the night. A small unreality, she was not selfish, she would not ask for too much.

But then – _if she hadn’t…_

Ariadne’s hand froze over that perfect unblemished skin, and her body stiffened. Between them she saw an ethereal thread, glowing brighter than all the others. From his wrist into her abdomen, reminiscent of her dream on Thera.

How had she not noticed before? Though she was not sure _what_ , her thread was trying to tell her something.

"What are you?”

There was a certain sombreness to Zagreus's silence. A certain hesitance as he pulled himself from her frozen limbs, and Ariadne scrambled to face him.

Silence reigned between them as he plucked at her golden strands along the ground – illuminating a woody stem and leaf protruding from his bangs as he inspected it.

‘ _Where did his freckles go? And did I not clear his hair of twigs?_ ' Ariadne wondered – but shook herself of the thought almost immediately. That wasn't important.

Her yarn was held up, and compared to the ethereal thread that connected them both. She wished she could disappear the yarn from sight then. Pasiphae had taught her once – but Ariadne had not the quiet or the calm to manage such a feat then.

_So strange._

"Are you a monster?" She whispered, trying to put her warmest smile to her face. She _had_ been scared all those hours ago, thinking he was going to take her life. But Ariadne hardly believed that now. "It's okay if you are – I don't mind. We both know that means nothing."

“You would say that, wouldn't you?” He shook his head with a secretive smile, followed by a bitter sigh. “Between me and something like that… I wonder if there’s much difference, really? Other than perception."

Ah – so Zagreus was back to not making sense again. Was that all this was?

Ariadne was quickly proven wrong when she watched his hand begin to shift.

Soft brown skin cracked apart into hard plates, ones which shed into blackened reddish scales. They were grotesque, not like the smooth scales of a wall lizard. Rather, they resembled crusted scabs, and were tipped with terrible looking claws. His will had changed his form, and his whim changed it yet again as those scales began to slough off. Fallen to the ground with wet plinks, his hand returned to normality – other than claws which refused to recede. He pressed them deep into a tight fist. Zagreus let out a hiss of frustration as he clutched it to his chest.

Ariadne's stomach turned, the sight inherently sickening. Wrong – as if she had seen too much of the inbetween. And what Zagreus said next did nothing to stop the churning.

The panic grew inside her, thorny and prickling.

“You can call me whatever names you like. Monster. Beast. Scoundrel – whatever. Because I'm the reason you're here. Theseus was told to leave you because of _me_." He pursed his lips. "It's not what he would've chosen. Though I'm not exactly happy that he decided to tell you sweet fucking all about what was happening. Leaving you so in the dark..." He looked up at her, meeting her gaze with a face that spoke of conflicted regret. "Shit – I'm getting off track. I just wanted to say I'm sorry – for everything."

His arms were wrapped around himself, and those awful leftover claws dug into the flesh of his arm. _He looked so sorry for himself,_ though Ariadne barely noticed. All she could hear was the sound of rushing water after Zagreus spoke Theseus’s name, as if she were holding head underneath the bathwater back in Crete.

“You know – the funny thing is I could’ve done nothing and you’d still be here. Maybe things would have been easier… but I didn’t. I chose to be selfish.”

“Why would he listen to you?” Ariadne spoke slowly, her voice breaking somewhere between the confusion and the shock.

Even if she had misjudged the prince greatly in other respects – she knew that Theseus's will was not one easily trifled with, and his mind not easily steered.

“Theseus would not just _let_ himself be told what to do!” Lashing out, Ariadne jumped from conclusion to conclusion with unsettling frequency. What kind of man or monster or strange third thing was Zagreus that he could hold so much power? “Not just by anyone.”

Ariadne blinked, and blinked again, attempting to accommodate her frantic mind. _She did not want to talk about Theseus right now_ – she only wanted to spend the night speaking of inconsequential nonsense with Zagreus, and wake up in his arms the next day. She just wanted the Fates to stop punishing her, and to let her life be easy again. A life where she could know what to expect when she woke up in the morning, and where she would be sleeping safely in the night.

Something within turned at these ideas, seething inside her. Foreign feeling, she felt it boil beneath her skin, wishing for any way to escape that Ariadne would give it.

‘ _Who are you?_ ’ She wondered, a searing brand of a thought directed to the man. By nervous reflex, she grabbed at her gleaming spool and rolled it around. So much easier to look at that as she considered the facts before her, even if it could not lead her to her conclusions as easily as it usually did.

Even that damned string between them added to the confusion! What did it all mean? Was that even worth considering, with all else that was burning in her mind?

“I don’t understand…"

Theseus would not listen to a king of Knossos, demanding respect. He would not listen to a tender girl, wishing to speak no more of her dear dead brother.

Much as she tried to think – the emptiness of her stomach and the parchedness of her throat split her mind into distraction. Her body too felt gritty and sticky in a way she had never experienced. Three whole days of sweat stuck to her, when she had barely ever gone a day without being washed. So far away from her mind these things had been, when tending to a man already half on his way to death. Harder to ignore now that she was in front of some _higher power_ than the hero of Athens.

And then it clicked, as cheeks previously red blanched quickly at her realisation.

The unimaginable beauty, the shapeshifting, the immortality – it really should have been obvious earlier. Ariadne just never would have imagined one of them was involved. Perhaps for her mother or her sisters, but surely not herself.

“ _You’re a god?_ ” Ariadne choked out, hoping that _not_ -Zagreus wouldn't hear the hurt in her words, which dropped deep into the pit of her stomach. 

A short and succinct nod was all that answered her question. Silence screamed.

And now that she knew – every bone in her body begged her to bend to the ground before him. To submit as was proper and prostrate herself.

She knew that she _should_ feel fear. Or awe, or _at least_ some form of gratitude that he would deign to focus such attention upon her. And yet Ariadne couldn’t muster it within herself to obey these reactions, these principles ironed into her from childhood – _because she was empty_.

Gone was that lightness that _Zagreus_ had given her, as it became clear how much she had been toyed with. Gone was that sense of self preservation she had cultivated, gathering greens for her own survival.

In their place were only the sharp bare branches of a once leafy tree, poking through the clouds she had used to build her dreams of a future in the sky. A tightly blossoming anger made Ariadne dizzy as that spreading happy warmth left her, replaced by a corrosive acidic burn underneath her skin.

He might have called her goddess, but how could he truly mean such a thing? Knowing about her, being what he was, he must have been laughing on the inside. _Why!_ It was one thing for her, cursing and laying blame upon Theseus and the Fates, far away and intangible to her as they were. But to see the source of her woe in front of her? It filled her with the boldness of a person who simply _no longer cared_.

“Do you hate me?” She accused him.

The way he clutched at his chest, his face panicked? _Oh, how she almost believed him pained at those words_. “No! I would never—”

“Then you hate Theseus!”

Of course – there was _always_ the sordid third option.

To be alone at night with a god who had wanted to kiss her into forgetfulness. She could not fathom the point of it, surely there were much easier ways to seduce a lover.

And Ariadne shivered then, as her imagination filled the blanks. As she thought of how depraved this god must be – that _this_ is how he readied her for his pleasure. She imagined how he must have relished in pushing her through this distress. To reveal his ill intent, only to make her oblivious and compliant afterwards. To watch her break, so that he might put her back together again without her even knowing.

Ariadne's mind was not in a bright place then, and seized upon any awful thought that happened to captivate her focus. Anything seemed possible. Anything _was_ possible with one of these… _things_.

' _Perhaps he will leave me alone again, once he learns I cannot bear him bastards._ '

"How I feel about Theseus is unimportant." He finally answered, a stormy disposition held fast upon his face before he almost methodically untensed, and a gentle look appeared in its place. "I mean, like, if you need to talk to somebody about him I’m there for you. Or about your brother – I imagine that didn't make it easy."

“You think I want to speak to you about my brother?” She spoke, her voice low and harsh as her voice emptied of emotion. Frigid.

' _He puts on such a show of caring_.' But she refused to be taken in by him, and showed it in the furrowed steel of her brow and deep set frown.

“No.” He sighed. "...I just want to help.”

She let out a low hollow laugh.

“ _Y_ ou want to _help_?” Ariande stated emptily, at first. But much like a forest full of dry leaves and duff, she suddenly caught aflame at a single spark – her voice cracking with anger on the last word. “Then why all of this? Why make Theseus leave me here! Why did you wait until now to do something! My life in Knossos was filled with wishing that someone – _anybody –_ would come and take Asterion and I away. Why wait until he is already dead!? Why put me through all of… _this_?”

She choked for a moment on her words, knowing there were tears again running down her face and not caring one bit as she continued her accusations against him. 

“Now Asterion is dead, because of me… My mother told me it was fate but – but could you not have challenged it? _Why appear to me now?_ Why pretend to be Zagreus! _Why!_ You didn’t need to do any of that. If you had come to me even the _day_ before I met Theseus, I… I… _Things could have been different!_ ” Ariadne shouted, almost tripping over the words as anger leapt up through her throat. “You’re too late!”

She wanted to slap him – she wanted to slap herself. There were a million things she wanted to do to express her incredible frustration at her situation, but reasonably what _could_ she do against a being so all powerful.

Ariadne sank to her knees, not in deference, but out of sheer desolation. Her eyes shut, and her face was entirely unguarded as she let the totality of her ill-thought actions hit her.

Trapped again, a familiar feeling at least.

If only she could choose where to be stuck, rather to be dragged from place to place and uprooted again and again. How nice it would be if she were tied to the earth and worried for nothing but rain in the cold months and sunshine in the warm ones. To weep sap only when cut or attacked, rather than cry tears caused through the machinations of others.

To be anchored to the ground by tight vines of ivy felt so inviting, and the soft earth begged Ariadne to come into its fold, as if she belonged there all along. Was she a person? Or a thing? The lines blurred now, and her tear-filled eyes were met with an awful sight.

Eyes widened to see her legs wrapped in vines of ivy, twinning like serpents up and around her as they sprouted from her very body itself. She felt them too as they burst from her skin. Horror filled her, as her shaking hands birthed vines that wound around her wrists.

She could have sworn she heard her name being spoken, again and again...

But had the air always been so filled with the shouts of animals? She heard the yowling of cats, and the roar of something unfamiliar, far closer than she would like. But then… Those were the worries of a girl. Encased in ivy – or made of it – she would have nothing to worry.

She could hear anything anymore, not over the whispers of her foliage. So quaint and soothing. _The ivy loved her, it consoled her._ Whispers upon whispers in her mind dragged her deeper, as it yearned for her to become one with it, forevermore.

A peaceful life, at least.

" _Ariadne!_ "

For a moment, his voice cut through. Clear and sonorous and right in her ear.

Her eyes opened again, and she saw the god before her, his face stricken with panic and grief. His concerned brow told her more than his lips, which moved wordlessly, words lost over the din and the beating of her drum-like heart. Shakily, she spoke. “Is this… your wrath?"

That set him off.

He ripped at the vines wildly, gritting his teeth. He was thorough too, circling and making sure no part of her was left overgrown with the creeping ivy. Ariadne wondered why he used his hands, and not his power – and were those tears pricking at his eyes? Arms encircled her from behind, and he spoke into her ear again.

“Stay with me, Ariadne. You need to calm down, and I need…” A gulp punctuated his words, his anxiety almost as tangible as the ivy which was already busy growing back, now curled around him too. “ _You_ need to want to exist right now, because there’s no going back if you commit to this. And – that’s my fault – _everything is my fault_...”

 _He was crying_ , face full of deep anguish as he watched the vines climb up her body. _All for her?_ Distantly, Ariadne remembered how Zagreus had spoken of his love and his awful fate.

 _Ampelos_ , turned into vines.

Lies or truth?

Ariadne knew the eyes of a person who had seen too much, and she felt pain in her heart. The face he bore right then, it was the look of someone who wished very much not to witness old horrors come back to haunt them.

“I should have known this was coming – my mother told me as much.“ She smiled painfully. “You wouldn't do this, right? Not after what happened to your love… _Haaaahhh_ … this must simply be what happens to poor disobedient daughters of nymphs. I deserve it."

“No you don’t!”

Beautiful liar that he was, his chest rose and swelled with emotion. Eyes full of passion that would have swayed a less weary Ariadne.

“Nobody does! You only wanted to make a damned _choice_ for one in your life! Who could punish you for wanting that?" She blinked tearfully at him through leaves that now obstructed her vision. “But – I’m pretty sure you can’t help what goes through your little head, huh? The way you must feel right now... Like everything is too much? Bursting out of your skin...”

His hand rubbed along the bone of her wrist and gently brushed away the stem protruding there, pausing at the sound of a whimper. Rooted so close to her bone, she feared the pain he might cause were he to rip it out.

“ _I don’t know how_ – ” Contradictory to his statement, the god shot a suspicious look to the thread so stubbornly stuck between them. “But you’ve borrowed a bit of – uh... _Me._ And not the fun parts. What you borrowed is so, _so_ much more than any one person should ever shoulder the burden of. I want to help you, but I need you to trust me...”

“ _I can’t_.”

Did she really have a choice though? Her body – she felt it rapidly giving way, her skin starting to become strangely rigid, bark-like. How was she to stop this, if a god alone could not?

"Before I tried to kiss you Ariadne – I felt the same way. I feel like that _every time_ I come back from Hades. Only more. You being there with me? You saved me from that. But even then… it's still too much for you, isn't it? Can you trust me? _Please_. I can't just leave you to deal with this alone. Trust me for just this one moment, and we can share this burden – _together._ ”

Her tears left cold tracks along her face, but his hands were warm as he wiped them away.

“Everything you feel right now inside that frenzied little head – _give it to me._ Drink from me, Ariadne." He whispered hoarsely, forehead against hers for but a second. So short, but Ariadne savoured the potency of his body against her own. “Just one kiss on the cheek – like I gave you.”

" _I will not let you off so easy, god."_

Head dizzy, skin bursting, Ariadne wanted to snarl. It always came down to this – asking such _things_ of her. Bodies brought together as they were – Ariadne doubted he meant to let this end with just a kiss. He would take and take, hoping to make her full and pregnant.

She smiled at him, wild and feral. Lips just too wide, _just too much teeth showing_.

This god with all his _tricks_ , could he not see her flaw? Was all this really necessary when his face was so fine? Ariadne already labelled herself an easy woman. Did he? _Did he know that none of this was necessary_? Even if it was her anguish that he was after, could that not have been much easier achieved?

The joke was on him – because despite everything? Some awful part of her wanted this, and she didn’t need _love_ to satisfy that desire anymore. If these might be the last moments of her life, she would take from him too, and live just a little more before it was all over.

He was just a finger’s breadth away from her lips, waiting expectantly still. Obedience, or another trick?

Past caring either way, Ariadne answered him with a burning kiss, not on the cheek but to his lips. One that devoured her volatile emotion as much as she devoured the god in front of her.

Almost at once the vines lost their hold, falling to the ground as the intensity within her bubbled over. They grasped at each other tightly as that feverish energy spilled out all around her – into him – back into her. It was messy and disorientating, _but it felt right_. 

Turning to face him, Ariadne pulled away for a moment with heavy breaths. A wild impulse overtook her. One that urged her to make her mark.

She pulled him into her, hands grasped tight in the linen of his clothes. And she _tore_ with a strength she was not entirely sure was all her own and at once, his beautiful peplos split from neck to navel.

They both beheld her work. Him in an awed silence, and Ariadne immensely proud with her eyes reaping the spoils. Just below his belly, she could see the beginning of a trail of dark hair curving until it disappeared below the fabric bunched at his belt.

Her breath hitched at the sight, and then the moment was over. Because she was pushing him to the ground.

They hit it with a soft thud, as one hand braced against his chest, and the other buried in the nest of silk and leaves that was his hair. Not pulling this time, but running through the softness with curious fingertips that traced along the base of those woody stems. The god trembled beneath her.

At the same time her eyes were drawn to the vast stretch of chest she had revealed, and her mouth curved into a smile and she kissed down and along his breast. Ariadne swiped a thumb with vigor up the woody stem of his crown, and with sudden curious intention pressed her lips to his nipple. She wondered if he felt it as she would, to have such sensitive skin laved and sucked upon by a heated feral lover.

His response was utterly satisfying, so feverish he waa. Little moans escaping as his hands grasped tightly in response – parting the flesh of her ass which filled his palms so well.

A new feeling hit her, dangerously ticklish right down to the deepest part of her stomach. Often heavy as stone with anxiety, her belly was light with reckless abandon at that moment. She was fueled by a sudden brushing aside of self-conscious fear as her once self-destructive impulses worked anew around them. Put to more constructive use as the god worked to strum a chord of deep satisfaction with lingering caresses up and down her body. It began with a single deliberate stroke down the column of her neck, and ended with a palm at the small of her back, thumb caressing the swell of flesh just below as he held her against him.

When her lips finally left the tightened pebbled skin, she quickly pressed her lips to his jaw. Ariadne was determined to keep her mouth busy – her mind was always quieter when her mouth had something to do.

Whether that distraction was the chewing of her lip, or the attention she now lavished on the skin of this god before her – her mouth always needed distraction.

Ariadne worked her way down again with little nibbling kisses that marked her path, and the god tipped his head back in ecstasy at her touch. Allowing her more and more access.

Ariadne felt feral and primal as her eyelids fluttered at the possibilities and opportunities she could have with the willing god before her. No longer consumed by doubt, no longer consumed by anger. There was no Knossos in her mind, no labyrinth, no Theseus – not even a thought to poor Asterion.

Just them, passing this frenzied energy of life itself back and forth between them.

Hands rubbed the back of her thighs, his long fingers delving deeper between than she had expected. In her ears all she could hear was a thrumming baseline, and _his voice._

"Hungry, aren't you? So much yearning – I'd forgotten what it's like – _to feel that way…_ "

In a flurry, he drew Ariadne back up to him and set about her with a fervor. It was his turn to devour her now, tasting and savouring her as if she were his favourite thing to eat.

Those fingers curled, seeking. She felt them push further between, now fully into the territory of her inner thighs as he pulled her core against him. _Spread her against him_ , as their bodies ground together.

But Ariadne could not resist a tease as she pulled away, lightly dragging the edge of her teeth along the tip of his tongue. She slid along gently, until his bottom lip was between her own – and sucked on it for one long and sweet second before she let go.

Not to be outdone, his mouth kissed the skin of her shoulder, and his tongue leapt out to taste her again. And then his teeth were pressing – _biting into her flesh._ Hard enough that it was more than just a tease, and soft enough that the pain it caused only heightened everything else they did.

When he pulled back from her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the reddened mark he left behind, Ariadne pressed back into him feverishly. The foliage around them swelled.

He tasted like sweet wine, and something else. Something previously unknown, which a deep instinct within told her was _nectar_. It brought about an intoxication deeper than even her heaviest nights of drinking, and she felt excruciatingly alive as he seemed to pluck every thought from her mind but that of then and there.

Until there was nothing but each other and the growing greenery beneath them.

-

When they finally pulled away from each other, spent with faces warm and breathing hard, Ariadne could not say how long they had spent sowing wild energy into each other.

A heady feeling overtook her. Not overwhelming and intense – but leaving her speechless all the same. Held with a hand clasped around her waist and his face buried in her hair behind her. His grip was desperate, and the touch of his skin bore an itch in her that wished to be scratched.

An improvement over need, at least. Though she still couldn't trust these feelings. Not that denial would matter to such a being – he would take what he wanted anyway, would he not? At least Ariadne was prepared for this. _She had been looking forward to it._

Yet his hands never roamed, even if he touched as much of his body to hers as physically possible. She felt safe, engulfed in him as curling wisps of his hair tickled her nose.

But even through the peace of it all, she couldn't shake the feeling that it would not be for long – that soon he would be pushing her for more.

Except all that left him were little chattering noises, laughs to himself interrupted by the occasional snap of his teeth. Strange affectionate noises more accustomed to a feline than a man.

"I don't understand." Ariadne huffed. "Are you… going to take me?"

Theseus never held her like this before he had her. Only after. _Why wasn't he waiting until after?_ Uncertainty coiled in Ariadne's stomach.

She knew how things went.

All this talk of wanting to help her would be gone, once he realised he traded for defective goods.

"Mmm… We'd have fun with that, wouldn't we?" He chirped back cheerfully, voice a touch mischievous before his eyes clenched shut in sudden and fast frustration. “Uh – sorry, don’t worry about that. Still recalibrating, I guess.”

It was maddening – _he was maddening_. And that was when it clicked for Ariadne.

“You – ! You’re… the L – Lord Dionysus!” She tried to stand then, as she said it. Perhaps thinking she could suddenly flee – but Ariadne’s limbs were suddenly light as air. The muscles of her body were suffused with wine’s languid embrace and allowed her to go no further. Ariadne fell to the earth as soon as she took a step back, tripping over a root. “I’m so sorry – ”

Scrambling to her knees, she pressed her forehead to the ground. Words left her in a moment of pure reflex.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t – I don’t…!”

There were words one was supposed to say when prostrated before a god, begging for their forgiveness. But they all fell away from her. Ariadne was frozen in fear. This was not some tutelary god, not minor personification of a natural function. _He was something powerful_ , one of those most high.

Him and his worshippers were almost as reviled as they were beloved for the way his power allowed them to live separate from all else, by their own rules.

“ _Hey._ Ariadne – don’t get all formal on me now. We're past that, right?” Prostrated as she was, he apparently found this not to his liking – and Dionysus picked her up from the ground with ease. The gentleness of his hands brought her back to when she thought him a dying man. A feeling that compounded when he knelt before her, and pressed a kiss to the inside of each of her wrists. "Like I said, I'm the one who should be saying sorry here."

For a moment she remembered the feeling of Theseus's lips on her wrists, and her stomach erupted. Ariadne ripped away from the softness of the god's mouth, wary.

He was wine and madness and _freedom_ of all things, and yet here he was to collect her as a possession all the same. Whatever his intentions, whatever he wanted from her? He already had it, he did not need to pretend.

Did she even need to speak? What was the point, other than to partake willfully in her own destruction? Her words fell far away from her.

They no longer mattered.

Nothing she did mattered, nobody listened anyway. If this was her fate, to be possessed and ultimately discarded. She should no longer embarrass herself! She should refuse to fall into these pitfalls of declarations of affection. And then no longer would she be able to fool herself with dreams conjured up as a girl.

Tabitae had no words, and her life was not her own – but she had been strong. She had suffered through it without baring herself to indignity time and time again. She did what was expected of her, and none could force her to say that she liked it. Or hated it.

Her thoughts had belonged to her alone.

Ariadne was not Tabitae – there was no bridle that controlled her. No forceful binding on her words. But she tried to find strength in emulating that woman, strength in withdrawing her words.

By her own choice.

"So skittish now..." She was surprised that he didn’t try to touch her again. “Won’t you talk to me Ariadne? Don’t be afraid...”

Instead she looked all around at what had tripped her, the vines they had birthed around them. Two distinct forms of woody stems wrapped around each other and formed a bed of greenery, intertwined and flowering with distinctive bell-shaped flowers that brushed against his petaless fragrant clusters.

“...you can say whatever you like, I promise. I’m cool.”

She was not really listening to him anymore, eyes fixed on the familiar incriminating flower. She would have recognised them anywhere, unlike the unusual word he just used. 

' _More treachery!_ ' Ariadne wailed within, as she acknowledged them with a heavy swallow.

 _That_ was what sent her eyes up to meet him, hurt swimming in her gaze. And instead of words, a silent question was pointed in the form of the flowers she held tightly in her hand; plucked quickly from the ground and thrust into his view.

A sheepish look was sent to her from Zagreus – _from Dionysus_.

“You recognise them?” He said, a note of softness touching the surprise in his voice.

Ariadne nodded, her mind beginning to blur as the line between the personalities of _Zagreus_ and someone she had _thought_ was Theseus blurred in her mind. Her face burned hotly, and a shiver crept down her neck as she remembered foolishly wanting to run away and join the vine god's camp, years ago. How nostalgic.

She hadn’t asked to revisit the naive fantasies of her younger self, but then here she was. _Again_.

“I can explain…” He sighed, as he drummed his fingers along his hip, making time for himself.

He held up the shining golden line on the ground, spooling it as he studied. Ariadne squeaked before she nervously snatched it out of his hand, almost dropping it in the process. Why was he looking at it like that?

It was all she had left from her mother, unreality bound in thread. But it was still just a trinket compared to all that he could do.

Dionysus was looking on at her expectantly, as if he thought now she would finally speak. But Ariadne only clutched her thread tighter.

“You gonna tell me why you did that? Or… I dunno, at least tell me how awfully I’ve messed everything up?” There was still a hint of humor, a sort of hope carried in his voice that she could be swayed. “Come on – at least be mad at me! Something!”

But Ariadne was far more tired than resentful. Tired of trusting, tired of opening up, tired even of _rage_. Still, it took a bit of steel within her not to flinch at the loud exhale of breath from the god, and the tightening of his mouth. His stricken features.

He looked ill, all from her simply refusal to answer him.

"Uhm… maybe I should start with how I got here in the first place..." Dionysus mumbled as he shuffled the conversation along, uneasiness in his voice. "You can tell me to shut up by the way. If you want. Please?"

Ariadne stared at him blankly. Why this god insisted asking her permission in all things was beyond her.

“Right… Well! You know, I’ve heard the rumors about Knossos. I never believed them entirely of course – I mean, knowing what they say about _me_.”

Oh, how she remembered the grumblings in the palace every time his camp came ‘round. Talking of people fooled by naive ideas of freedom, stolen from their rightful places and used to slake a deviant’s perverse desires? Who else could they be speaking of?

But Ariadne had never put much stock in such words – for just exactly the reason Dionysus claimed not to judge Asterion.

Not that it made him any less dangerous.

“Guess I just thought that whatever was going on… Well… Your mother is a capable woman, or so I've heard. I figured she had things under control. I’m not really the _heroic_ type, you know? My brothers are the ones who go after monsters, not so much me.”

Ariadne flinched, opening her mouth for a moment – the closest she got to telling him off since she withdrew her words. But Dionysus interrupted her before she could even speak.

“But then, Asterion was never a monster, right? And maybe if I had thought about his situation as more than a curiosity, more than just a story for someone _else_ to go through and hear about on some far-off day? Maybe we’d both be happy on the other side of the island now. Maybe we’d be talking right now and laughing, instead of _this_."

Dionysus gestured to the space between them, a great chasm compared to how happily entwined they had been not long ago. But her eyes were still fixed on the flowers in her hand, and the deception they still represented. The deception that still lay all around her.

"But I’m not getting to the point, am I?" He shuffled nervously, dragging out that last _I_ with a slow nervous drawl. “Eros told me three days ago that you’d be left here on Naxos, among other things. Real smart guy that I am, I thought I’d prove him wrong. I heard you talking with your sister – and, well… I jumped to some conclusions, thinking I could solve things before they even got to that point, you know, your problem with your… ah.. _Fertility_."

They both winced at the oblique reference to what Ariadne saw as her greatest flaw.

"I figured I could fix it, you know? I'm a fertility god! Pop in wearing your love’s face, work a little magic, pop out. Everybody’s happy! But of course, we started actually _talking_ and you’re telling me about how you didn't love him yet, and – well, we got a bit carried away… We talked about the bees… and I said you looked like a painting.” He smiled. “Which is still true.”

That was not _all_ , and they both knew it. But at least he had a bit of shame, the barest tinges of a blush deepening through his dark skin.

She remembered how _slightly_ off Theseus had looked, with strangely greenish eyes where she should have seen a pure blue. How he had even seemed ever-so-slightly taller. She remembered thinking of how uncharacteristic he seemed – and not questioning it for how much she had enjoyed opening her heart to him. Not just because she _had_ to, but because she enjoyed his company.

The rest of the time she had spent with Theseus never seemed to live up to those moments. At least she knew why now.

“Well, Athena caught me – and she didn’t exactly share the sentiment about the fact that I was really doing her a _favour_. Aaaand then this morning came around, where Eros _killed me_ for my fuck ups. And for a short while, he turned me into the raving husk of myself that you spent the better part of your day comforting – and here we are.”

That was _a lot_ to take in – and his words seemed to do their best to confuse her further. (For instance, how did one _kill_ a god?) One important little piece of information rang clear to her at least.

‘ _So that was all real?_ ’ Or at least, his stint as Zagreus had not been designed to trick her.

She had reasoned it through before, or at least attempted to reconcile the Theseus under the tree with the Theseus who had abandoned her so suddenly, without cause. But this false Theseus, this Zagreus – _Dionysus._ To be all the same person, all holding the same core personality underneath the pretenses that each of the identities impressed upon him? _That_ was a reckoning she was unprepared to process.

It seemed no matter what form or identity he took, her affection followed him for more or less for the same reasons. The comfort, the sweet affection – _the conversation_. But whatever affection that was still left competed with a bitter sadness. How much of this was the _real_ , and how much of him was playing the god who stood before her now?

“I want you to come back to camp with me…or rather, _I want you to want to come home with me_."

Words like that were honey to Ariadne’s heart, which swarmed on that sentiment like hungry ants, gathering tiny bits of inferences and assumptions. But they were only empty meanings. It was all well and good to pretend, but she knew where she stood at this end of things.

"You don't have to stay, but we can figure things out at least. Would you want to stay in Naxos? I'm sure I can find someone to take you in. Or – if you want to come along with us when we move on… I'd like that a lot."

Ariadne shrugged, and before he could burst into another attempt to win her over, her stomach began to rumble. Loudly.

Quickly, she pulled out the spoils of her time spent in the field. Leaves filled her mouth – and Ariadne had to pause for a moment. At least until she was able to remind herself that it wasn't the ivy returning, creeping past her lips.

She was determined to appear strong before him, much as she quaked on the inside. He could project whatever helplessness he wanted onto her, but she would do nothing to encourage it. She would not beg him to take her along.

If he wanted anything out of her, he would simply have to do as he would and be done with it.

“Is that all you’ve eaten all day?” Dionysus suddenly asked, notes of concern colouring his tone.

There was a tenseness as they stared at each other then, a challenge between the two. Her with grey eyes that dared him to do something – _anything_ – and him with those impossible grass green eyes, starting to mottle into burgundy. The air around his hands shimmered with a perilously unreal potential, and Ariadne wondered if he had finally lost his patience with her.

She could tell her silence bothered him. Could see it in his face every time she stared at him as he probed for a response. Was he going to let the vines finish the job now, because she would not fawn at his feet?

So be it – Ariadne closed her eyes.

“I'm an awful host! Here it is, your first trip to Naxos – during my festival no less – and this is how I've welcomed you? Please, let me feed you. You must enjoy my hospitality!"

-

𐄒𐄊

_a good host?_

Blankets, cushions – warm burning light.

The plushest of couches lay not far behind Ariadne, and she refused to sprawl leisurely upon it as Dionysus would have wished. Still, he was a hospitable host.

So when Ariadne decided not to budge from her place, a low table melted out of the earth to greet her, with twiggy gnarled legs topped with gleaming polished stone. Cushions appeared all around it.

Rather deviously he let one grow right underneath Ariadne, and ignored the scowl and pointed look in his direction from the princess in response. He had the tact at least to pretend not to notice when she stuffed another cushion underneath her, resigned to her situation and the comforts he was determined to provide.

In his mind, Dionysus's hands slid along wet clay, forming and shaping the walls of a large clay pot and feeling the blazing heat of a kiln. Not a second later, a hearth sat in the ground behind him, with his imagined clay pot buried in the ground and wood already burning inside as if it had blazed all night long. The air was fragrant with its smoke. 

He thought of flour and fermenting grape must, and of how it would rise and churn and knead until it was ready to be baked, some mixed with a soft cheese, and others with honey.

Days of preparation, hours of work all fell in swoops of thought to Dionysus, though it likely seemed like ages longer to his divine relatives. Clay walls that should have been heated carefully and steadily for hours were already hot, with bread stuck to the sides – born into this world on the brink of readiness. 

Even small things like that were seen as eccentricities on his part – ones that his more logical or up-tight siblings (three guesses as to who _they_ were) might wonder the point of. Especially when one could instantly summon something more perfect than human hands could ever manage.

But then, nothing ever tasted so good as bread fresh from an oven! No matter how divine, how unnaturally perfect a loaf – in his opinion, nothing else could compete.

And just like that, what was once a dark and dreary gully stinking of wine and death became a warm and hospitable nook for them to dine in. The ichor soaked earth made it all the easier for him to work so smoothly, so quickly – so much without detriment or disturbance to the delicate system of life all around them.

As the bread came out, quail and sea perch went in, stuck through on spits and left to roast inside. The flesh of many a shelled creature appeared on the table, dressed with samphire and a sauce that he knew a man in the camp made _just_ right.

Every one of the dazzling array of foods was recreated from a memory. Joyous memories spent with friends as they feasted throughout the evening. Lulled to sleep by stomachs full of good food, and hearts full of stories shared. Cheeks tired from laughing and smiling.

They were the kind of memories he wanted Ariadne to have.

If she would allow him to – which he still wasn't sure about. Though he could see little twitches of her nose every so often as she took deep breaths of the many smells emanating in front of her, she held back. Even as her hungry eyes took in the sights, she held back.

"Aren’t you going to help yourself? I mean, come on! You can’t tell me you feel _nothing_ looking at all this food! The smell – I mean, it’s divine! Literally divine! Like, as much as Ares swings a sword real fancy and Apollo is really great at telling people how they should live their lives, even when he shouldn’t – _I’m_ the one out of them all who can actually make a damn good meal!"

Aaaaand, nothing from her. Again! He was only speaking as he would to anyone else – but was it too casual? Should he play the dramatic god, with all the flowery words that entailed? At least she would be expecting that and understand his words, instead of looking so damn confused.

“Other than Hestia, no other god in this land can claim to mind the hearth as well as I do and – _are you even listening?_ ”

The humming buzz of the bugs in the moonlight were all that answered him. Ariadne wasn’t even looking at him, seemingly mesmerized by the bread in front of her that emanated warmth. A small smile on her face was her response to his frustration. That was something, at least.

Maybe, in another world, this would have gone better. A world where Dionysus wasn’t _himself_ , and was instead the perfect embodiment of the man he pretended to be. Someone who could be told what to do, and just _did it_. Someone who would have taken the future Eros spoke of and made it their own, without denial, without letting their insecurities get in the way.

It was easy to imagine that world, one where all it took was the sight of Ariadne baring her heart and tears in her eyes for him to be moved. To offer himself up in replacement of Theseus, and be whatever she needed. Maybe he would not have to be told at all; simply finding her by wonderful fortunate circumstance. Or perhaps by sensing such an intolerable lack of joy in his vicinity that he simply _had_ to find it and fix it.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd done that.

But then – that didn’t feel right, to offer his hand so suddenly. Not after he heard her story.

He knew how many of her insecurities were wrapped around her bitter prospects for marriage. Wouldn't she only say yes to him, knowing there could be no other option?

' _What kind of person would we be to do as Eros said?'_

Not one with any decency. And as twisted and gnarled as the roots of their sprouting relationship had already become, he would not take any of it back. It wasn’t as if he could give her what she wanted anyway.

Because Ariadne did not see a _person_ before her, she saw an entity apart from her and all else. Above everyone and everything, in exactly the way that was expected of him by so many. A hype he could never live up to, not in reality – convincing others was far easier than actually _being._

How many alternatives had he dreamed of on this night, rather than focusing on what lay before him then? _This_ was the bed he had made, and he would have to lay in it.

It was time for a new tactic.

"Perhaps you've guessed, there's a price to this meal." A necessary lie, now that nothing that had happened between them meant anything anymore. She had all the reason to trust _Zagreus_ , but none at all for Dionysus. “Because I, the great Lord Dionysus, require your help!”

A wheeze escaped the girl’s lips, the barest of an exhausted and harsh laugh before Ariadne finally spoke.

“With what? The… That thing between your legs?”

 _'She refuses to speak for so long - and she opens up with_ ** _that_** _?'_ '

Dionysus winced as much as he rejoiced at this small, teensy weensy acknowledgement. He couldn't help but find her humor in those words, bitter as it was.

“Oh – you've got jokes now, do you? Very funny. But you know, I think you’ll actually be interested in this. What with it concerning _your_ _brother_ and all _–_ maybe you're not interested in getting him into Elysium?" One hand on his hip and the other thumping thumb first into his chest, Dionysus’s dynamic pose highlighted his declaration nicely. “Asterion that is."

“ _What_?” Ariadne spat her disbelief out in a single word, the sharp point of her denial. Were she still under that frenzied influence, she’d have no trouble discerning truths from halves and lies. She would have known he meant exactly what he said. But where was the trust in that? If he only relied on nectar laden confessions to get his point across, things would never change. “But… why? Why would you care about Asterion?” 

“Mmmm… Maybe I just feel sorry about all… _this_?” He gestured vaguely around him.

“I very much doubt that.” Ariadne responded quickly, almost automatic. It gave him an idea of how little thought she gave the idea. “I think you’re sorry that you were not able to have your way."

In a moment of unsureness, Dionysus bit his lip – it didn’t occur to him how exactly this action mirrored that of Ariadne across from him.

"And what do you think that is?”

_Woosh._

Just like that, Ariadne disappeared. Not into thin air, but hiding and scowling behind the various plates of food. Her head was buried in her hands, and her shoulders flat to the table. But she still spoke up, unafraid to let herself be heard – only to be seen as she did it.

“Well… _you know_. Y-you said you wanted to fix me. If that had worked… or if you truly meant to comfort me – why would Eros punish you? _What exactly were you trying to prove Eros wrong about?”_ Dionysus could practically hear her teeth grinding. “Do not give me illusions, do not sell me some empty fantasy of helping my _dead_ brother that you have no intention to uphold. I am tired of tricks! You already know my secrets, so don’t pretend it wouldn’t be easier to just leave me now. I am better off just staying here, worthless for anything other than existing. Eating leaves, surrounded by cats… I'll be fine. Spare me your false concern."

"What happened to _please don't leave me_?"

She gaped at him with eyes wide and her mouth even wider – because she had no answer to that, not for him at least. Fears and bitter truths had taken hold in her heart, and the pale moonlight illuminated more to Dionysus than just seashore and grassy plain. 

To tell her that he would like her to find happiness, that he would want her taken care of and given an opportunity to grow – it meant nothing to her. All that seemed to hold value to Ariadne was what she provided for others.

He could give her that at least, if that would help. He could make her think the only reason he laid this table was for the knowledge in her head, rather than the guilt in his heart.

As long as she didn't insist on being abandoned again. Dionysus couldn't do that.

“People don’t have to be worth something! But uh, if we had to arbitrarily place value on people, I think you’d be worth a lot. Like, I don’t _like_ Theseus, but even he thought you were worth something priceless. Enough that he would ask the impossible in exchange. And I know it sounds ridiculous – but I'll even swear on the Styx if that’ll help you believe me.”

The rush of water in his ears immediately reminded him of the gravity of his words – and more than that, it reminded him of what it felt like to be dying.

Dionysus _never_ swore on the Styx, for more than just the memories it resurfaced. To rely on such things for his sincerity to be heard was ugly – but Ariadne needed it. What was a little compromising of principle when a friend just needed some words to hang on to?

It was a more honest option than nectar, at least.

”That little gremlin put the price on you – because Athena wanted him to do it for nothing. But he wouldn’t do it for anything less than getting what he thought Asterion deserved – an afterlife in Elysium.”

“ _Oh_.”

There was a sound in her voice, as if that little fact changed everything, and it was awful to his ears. "That is not the worst of deals. I just… don’t understand how any of this happens to be _your_ problem? 

“Well, it’s my fault isn’t it?” Dionysus _had_ at least been the one to tempt the Fates designs into action. Further discussion about the inescapable nature of fate and how it applied to their lives could wait for the moment. “I mean, I think so… Athena thinks so. What about you?”

“I think it would be wonderful if everything were so easy.” 

“Right – well fortunately the only one whose opinion mattered there was Athena – because now Theseus’s request is my responsibility.”

“And I’m sure he expected the Lady herself to complete it, rather than… _you._ ” It sounded a lot like she would have preferred his sister too – but all the same Ariadne reached out to the table. She made a show of plucking flesh from a fish and wrapping bread around it. But instead of taking a bite, she held it up between them.

"If I give my word that I’ll aid you – you will at least _try_ to help Asterion? You promise?”

 _Try_ being an important word – she didn’t exactly exude confidence, more of an extremely resigned optimism. But it was something at least.

“Promise!"

“Wait!" She interrupted, before a short pause to gather her courage. "If you want my help, I need a condition. I… I need Phaedra to know that I'm safe!"

"Easy." After all, he had half a mind to do that anyway. He was surprised though. It was rather conservative in the grand context of mortals taking favours from him. "You know – you _are_ making terms with a god here. I can do a lot more than that… if you want."

Ariadne was quiet for a long while, determined to find the right words as she laid waste to the grass around her feet. Lips would purse and her hands would grasp and _rip_ , and Dionysus imagined it probably helped her thoughts along.

“Once Asterion has his justice, I want you to take me to my mother.”

To think so far ahead, Dionysus had not even _begun_. But it didn’t surprise him that Ariadne had – that her mind was spinning on the _after_ , trying to make sure she was not left behind. Alone.

“Why wait? I’ll take you to her now if you want – ”

“ _No._ "

Dionysus surprised by the heat in that reaction, and Ariadne scrambled to explain.

"It's just – if I go to her now, I wouldn't leave. I mean, if she wants me there – not that she would ever want me to think she wouldn’t…” 

_Rip_. _Rip. Rip_.

If Ariadne’s mind was a machine, that was the sound of it at work.

“But I can't risk going to her, if staying with you means helping Asterion. If I have the opportunity to go back to her as someone better than I left her, or at least with something to show that I tried to be… I have to take it."

‘ _You’re fine the way you are_.’ Dionysus wanted to tell her.

But then who the fuck was he to tell her that, when that was what she wanted? Ariadne had defined her goal and she had the means to achieve it. If that was how she wanted to live her life, he wasn’t going to pick at the seams. He’d rather just help her.

“You’re sure?”

Ariadne gave him one short and exuberant nod.

"Those are my terms.”

His hands clasped in front of him, and a hopeful smile curled upon his face; Dionysus declared his promise.

“Ariadne, I swear to you – on _my_ mum, on the Styx, and whatever else you wish – we are going to get Asterion what he deserves. I swear that the next time you see your mother, you'll have no reason to do anything but hold your head high! There's no trying Ariadne, we're _going_ to do this.”

Those rushing waters hissed around him again, reminding him to be careful with his words.  
  
Was he getting in too deep, promising these things when they could take either an instant or a lifetime? Athena had said to ask Persephone, what if she said no? _Fuck it_. He’d take himself back down to the underworld as many times as it took and take Asterion there himself if he had to!

Could the Styx really argue with that?

"For Asterion!" Ariadne shouted, raising a cup. Less of a toast to the man, and more of an oath she drank deeply from her cup. Finally satisfied with their promises, she started to eat.

A warm feeling spread within him as he settled down to join her, enjoying the salty smell of the evening breeze.

Safe with Ariadne. Things felt right.

-

𐄒𐄋

_the burned effigy_

_Three days._

Three days he had spent in that hateful river, dropped off by that smiling god clad in a bizarre garb who spoke nothing but nonsense, too fast for him to make out. 

Only one word had given him a chance to cut in.

_Tartarus?_

It was a panic filled question, born of his shame. Born of his sheer inability to process what had happened, of what he had done. Unsure of what to regret, and what to relish.

‘ _Oh, no clue man. Paperwork is like, not really pre-done anymore. Or at all, actually._ ’ Said the god, letting Asterion slip out of his embrace. ‘ _We just let Styx sort things out. She always knows what to do.’_

And then Asterion was falling. The wet slap of his body against the water was the only noise in his ears, and no physical pain to be had.

His shame was two-fold, in both the paltry gift of a husband he had provided Ariadne, and in the nerve he had lost in front of Theseus in those final moments. Six years he had trained and dreamed of that glorious death. Six years, only to struggle for breath and words; full of emotions he had no idea of how to deal with. How he must have lost the respect of the prince in those final moments – begging him to keep to promises already made. Promises the prince didn’t intend to break, only bend to his will and circumstance.

HIs own kind of honour, one which Asterion was not privy to understanding. It was his own mistake to think songs were really sung about _good_ men rather than _great_. Theseus was a hero, only because he was able to get the job done. An assassin, if Asterion went by any other moniker than monster.

The Athenian didn’t exist to fit perfectly into his puzzle of wanting death, he was there to complete a task. It was Asterion’s mistake, to reach so far and expect Theseus to match the stories he had so desperately wanted to emulate.

For a while, as he drifted deeper and deeper, he thought the Styx agreed with him. He thought that the waters had consigned him to the dark depths as punishment – and the further he fell the more he felt the pressure pushing in all around him. Forces so great, he knew that he could not withstand it in mortal form.

All the horrors he saw down there… all the decay of endlessly dying gods. It was not a place meant for a mortal, though it stank of punishment.

‘ _You are not supposed to be here_.’ Screamed the desolate landscape. And yet Asterion knew the Styx meant for him to see it – though _why_ he could not fathom. Most confounding of all it spat him back upon the shore afterwards, content to show him sights and sounds from the abyssal plain before parting him from embrace.

Were all rivers so deep? So all encompassing? So full of salty brine? _So willing to show their secrets?_

Asterion could not know. He could not even be sure of the passage of time.

How many had laid eyes on him all those past three days? So many more than he could have ever imagined. Yet each gaze looked straight through him, seeing as little of him as he did of them. They saw no bull, no monster. Only another soul in an almost indistinguishable multitude of many. Eyes open, always watching and seeing nothing.

He was glad to be rid of that company – there was something unsettling to him, being one within so many.

Free of it now, he had been set upon this infinite shore with only the memory of a multitude of hands dragging him to explain it. The in between moments that brought him here were holes in his memory.

But where were those hands now? This beach was empty except for the presence of strangely rotund creatures that surrounded him. They had wide glassy eyes, and whiskers like cats – but were without limbs useful for walking, only strange webbed nubs. They flopped out of the water and would laze around on the sand, dozens upon dozens of them. They barely cared for the large bull-headed man, other than a few of their young, who were still curious creatures.

It was moments like that that heartened him, gave him some solace that this freedom he sought was not so entirely misguided. So wide and open as this space was, these were things he loved. He could finally _breathe_ out here, even if it was not the air of the outside he had truly thirsted for. It was new.

If only the price was worth it – and he was the only one to pay it.

Much as it seemed to defeat the purpose of his escape – he was glad to be isolated, away from other people. Asterion would much rather be approached by these odd blobs than by the wayward souls he saw swarming far down on the beach. He was not even sure he could bear to be seen – in part for his shame. But in truth, because he realised he was _afraid_. Even though there had been other terrors to behold, down in the darkness, things which he should have feared more than his fellow shades; he knew which his heart would have an easier time facing.

' _The monsters in the deep, of course._ ' 

After all, here he was, hiding from his fellow dead.

Asterion worried that they knew of him already. Fretted that the very sight of him would set them running away, thinking him the flesh eating monster of Crete they had heard so much about. There was no Ariadne here to introduce him – to soothe and convince.

Could he face her after what had happened? He knew that he must – and he would when the time came. He was no coward. But what could he even say? Would she know? Or would he have to tell her—

The glimmering facsimile of stars and a far off shining pillars shone up above and far off in the distance. In a way it was remarkably similar to the labyrinth – with walls so deliberately decorated, yet so much bigger. He decided not to dwell upon the comfort that such comparisons to his prison provided him.

The place of strange beasts seemed a fitting place to trap himself as he waited anxiously at the shores of the Styx, especially since they did not run from him like cats. Alone with this colony of creatures, he could stand to watch and wait.

And thankfully, so far, there was no sign of her. Not her body at least.

Would he stay here ‘til the day she died? How long would that take? But it had only been three days – and he had only been watching for one. He could wait for a while longer yet. At least a week, then he could be satisfied she was safe.

That he even was afforded the chance to wait here was odd.

  
Had he not done enough wrong that he deserved Tartarus? Sinking as low as he had, he had thought those darkest and most crushing of depths had been it, and that he had been consigned to an eternity there. He could not swim, he could not even drown. All he had been able to do was sink endlessly, and be plagued by bitter regret. 

Ariadne and Theseus had been his companions then, not in truth, but in memory. They were all he could think of; yet if all was right in the world, he would not have been so consumed with thoughts of that Athenian. He would not replay in his mind every blow of their complicated battle that tainted the delineating line between them.

‘ _Knowing my death was so close at hand, knowing I would likely never have a chance to know any man’s touch, much less a man so fine as him - is it so wrong that I would want that?’_ Asterion’s head hung low, as he whipped it back in a furious shake to dispel his thoughts. He could have no excuses – none of that was _wrong_.

It was everything else about the situation that shamed him. Promises already made. If only it were as easy as just being two men earning each other’s respect and admiration, somewhere far away from Crete. 

' _At least they'll sing of us…'_

But then, who among these shambling shades would know, and what did they care?

' _But it was glorious_.'

Or as close to it as could have been achieved, but this _glory_ that he had was harsh on his tongue.

In so many ways Theseus had been perfect. When Asterion had first laid sight on him, he _knew_ Ariadne had been right. He had felt something immediate and tenuous in the air that had never assaulted Asterion before. Even before the prince slid that pure white linen from his body, and let Asterion eyes fall wherever they would. But when he had… That had been all it took to rid his mind of his duty, had it not?

The man’s arrogance, his lack of guile – all of it had been clear to Asterion in the moment. Had even enticed his interest. He was not a child anymore, no longer did he dream of a soft boy to come through the doors of his forge. Nay, that had died with his head bashed against a wall, years ago.

Once Tabitae taught him the glory of battle, Asterion had dreamed of a different sort of boy entering his room. A different sort of hero. One who was a perfect opponent, one who tempted danger with his clever words, and would engage both his body and mind in the grandest of fights before the end.

And that he had gotten, as their battle could not have been more perfect. But how quickly he had forgotten Ariadne! Just as quickly as the prince, and yet with far less reason.

Theseus had made promises to Ariadne, but it wasn’t as if he had any care for her beyond what his honour should have instilled in him. _Should have_. It was Asterion who had claimed he cared, who had thought he would help her. It was him who hoped that he could at least do _one_ thing to help her, as she had him.

What a fool he felt for it.

Perhaps he should have continued to dream of that soft pure hero – and maybe the Fates would have delivered such a man to Ariadne. 

In truth, Asterion was not sure what it was he feared for her. Rationally, he knew that as much as he could not trust Theseus’s _honour_ , there was no reason for Ariadne to come to harm. There was no reason for her to be discarded, and there should have been no reason to worry, other than his irrational heart. But it was hard, untangling the mess he had allowed Theseus to drag him into.

It did Asterion well to remember the barely phased face of Theseus at the mention of his sister. As if their dalliance would be nothing to him when he left the labyrinth, and he could simply forget once all was said and done. Not even a closely guarded secret – he felt as if their encounter beyond that fight would barely be worth remembering to the prince. Gods only knew why the idea of Athenian moving on bothered him.

Nothing of this situation was easy! And yet, he had all the time to process it here in death. Alone. Perhaps this colony of round creatures would accept him into their fold.

In truth it was nothing of what Theseus had done that had truly worried him. It was no experience in life that struck such fear so deeply into Asterion’s heart about Ariadne’s fate – _it was what he saw in the depths_.  
  
A golden tether that struck all the way through the watery depths and anchored to the most pitiful of those titanic bodies lining the oceanic river floor. And the only thing he had _ever_ seen like that before was Ariadne’s clew of thread, much as he dearly hoped that it wasn’t.

He wished to hide himself away for more than just his fear of what these souls would think of his monstrous body – but for his shame. If Ariadne were already here, already dead – then it was all for nothing. Nothing but his own selfishness. Much as he wished to leave the spot which he was rooted at the beach, he could not, for fear his sister would wash ashore alone and confused.

Asterion decided he would not move an inch. Three days had passed, and he would stay there for however many more it would take for his sister to turn up. Not just a week. He would watch the glowing horizon, and he would admire the spinning wheel and the false constellations that shone in its wake for as long as it took.

He would sit, and he would wait, and he would delay and delay and delay all that he had hoped to explore now that he was free. Because he had not earned this freedom. Because he did not deserve it so long as Ariadne’s fate was so tenuous.

He could still see that dread titanic body, with Ariadne’s thread deeply planted in it’s encrusted flesh. Towering over him, yet still smaller than the mountainous beings that lined the abyssal plain all around. Clearly in his mind, he saw its missing heart and exposed cavity. It cowered alone and away from all the other suffering beings, as hands upon hands and hands reached to cover its eyes to hide its wretched away.

How awful was it that he conjured the image of that pitiful being laid deep in the vast darkness of the Styx, and _empathised_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaa!! I’m sorry I went missing for so long! Mostly just got plagued by a lot of rewriting this chapter… And then Hadesgame came out soooooo. I’ve been very distracted by that. :p Fun fact, that game is a significant inspiration for this story!
> 
> Next chapter out… idk when. I thought this chapter could come out fast, because I had so much material for it! Ariadne being mad at Dionysus on the beach is actually one of the first scenes I wrote for this story! Buuuut, with all the story that has passed since I first wrote those scenes and now it kinda called for a lot of change. Mainly due to Dionysus kinda developing WAY past just being a party man in my head, hehe.
> 
> Who knows, maybe having nothing to be beholden to other than my outline now will help me get the next chapter out faster. (It’ll be mostly Asterion focused, for my minotaur fans out there. :3)
> 
> Still pimping my discord, which I mostly use to host the art in the story, [here](https://discord.gg/2cdDzPb). I also have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/lappystar) if you guys wanna check out some of the Hades fanart I’ve been working on!


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